


Hand In Hand

by thisonegoes



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Adultery, Angst, Childhood Friends, Developing Relationship, M/M, Sexual Tension, Summer Romance, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-03-11
Packaged: 2018-01-14 07:21:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 43,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1257742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisonegoes/pseuds/thisonegoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every May, Zayn leaves home and makes the drive to beautiful Santa Barbara, California, to work for the summer and save up money for school. This summer was supposed to be the best one yet, until someone from his past arrives and throws it all off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

If Zayn had to choose his top five favorite experiences of his young life, he could do it easily. He wouldn't even need to take a breath, he could rattle them off no problem. He _won't_ , because he keeps them close, but he can say this: he considers himself pretty lucky that one of them is an experience that happens every year. He's lucky that not all of his top five are once-in-a-lifetime things, like most people have. No, Zayn gets one of his every May.  
  
It's simple, really, which makes sense because Zayn considers himself to be a pretty simple person, with simple needs and wants. And this is the simplest of all, the drive from his childhood home to the beach, the drive he makes every May, in the shitty truck his uncle gave him for his sixteenth birthday. His family rib him for it, the intense love he has for the drive he takes every year, the journey he stretches from an easy two hours all the way up to four, simply because he likes to "drive with the waves" and go the extra long way.

But it doesn't matter, Zayn lets them laugh at him because he doesn't care. It really is one of his favorite things, about half way through the drive when he sees the ocean and gets to take it down to his favorite place. It's just Zayn, his arm out the window, breezing down the highway, wind in his hair, the promise of summer at his fingertips.  
  
It makes him feel alive.  
  
Since turning sixteen, every May, Zayn leaves his home in Bakersfield to go to beautiful Santa Barbara, California, to work for the summer and save up money for school. His friends think it's lame that he's gone all summer, every summer, but Zayn doesn't mind. His whole family used to spend summer weekends in Santa Barbara when he was young, staying with family friends who lived near the beach. So it always makes him nostalgic, Santa Barbara. He doesn't mind the work, he's a good saver, and he gets to hang out with his "summer friends," his coworkers from the restaurant, on the beach every night, once they close up.  
  
The last year had been rough on Zayn, with school being stressful. He had spent his junior year at college studying graphic design, and while it was fascinating and definitely the route he wanted to take, it was a little too closed up at times. Zayn needed to be outside, in the sun, interacting with his family and friends, not in a computer lab for hours upon hours, only staring at a screen. He needed a balance, he needed to see things, experience things, to actually be able to draw them.

So on the days when he feels overwhelmed with classes and his eyes droop from looking at a computer screen for too long, he thinks of May and of his favorite drive. He thinks of the beach, of drinking until he's sick in the sand with his friends, of the Fourth of July.  
  
No matter what kind of bad mood he's in, Zayn Malik can always think of the Fourth of July and instantly feel better.

  
  
***

  
So it's no surprise that when Zayn finally arrives at the tiny apartment sitting over the best cafe in the world, the cafe that serves the most amazing pie he will ever eat in his life, he's in a great mood. Before venturing up the rickety, wooden stairs that run along the building up to the apartment, he pops his head over to the main window and waves at Grace, one of his all-time favorite people, the owner and landlord who could be his grandmother, the woman who makes him want to have kids someday, so he can be an awesome grandparent too. Her weathered face lights up when she sees him, as she waves frantically. He sends her a quick kiss through the window and she knows him well enough to know he'll be back, after he jumps on the back of another one of his favorite people in the world, his best friend who he hasn't seen since February.  
  
He bounds up the stairs and practically breaks the door down with his excitement, flying through it and throwing his bags onto the floor of his temporary home. He takes a deep breath in through his nose, smelling the familiar sea air, taking in the one main room with the shitty couch, the shitty kitchen, and the shitty eating area. He can only imagine the shitty bedroom and the shitty bathroom towards the back of the apartment, and he can't wait to do stupid, irresponsible shit here all summer long.  
  
"Is that who I think it is?" he hears yelled from the bedroom.  
  
"Who the fuck else would it be?" he laughs, yelling back.  
  
Just then, Louis comes strolling around the corner in just a towel, shaking his ridiculously long hair out of his eyes. He holds his arms up and smiles. "Look who finally made it, you gorgeous fucking bastard. Bring it in, then."  
  
Zayn laughs and runs at him, jumping into his arms, squeezing him fiercely.  
  
"Easy, Malik. I know you've waited a few months to see my naked body, but please, don't knock my towel off just yet. You just fucking got here," he says as they separate.  
  
Zayn laughs again, and stands back with his hands on his hips. "You _wish_ I wanted to see you naked, Lou. Get real. But I'm here, finally! What are we doing tonight?"  
  
"Well, we have this little thing we call _work_ around these parts, maybe you've heard of it," Louis says, making his way around Zayn into the kitchen. He grabs two beers from the fridge and hands him one. "So I figured we'd get you back into the swing of things, make sure you remember how. I'm not confident you remember how the real world works, after you've been at your fancy _college_ all year."  
  
"You know for a fact that I go to a state school, and I worked all year, too. So fuck off," he says, laughing.  
  
Louis laughs with him and continues. "But don't you worry. After close, we're going to kick off your summer down at Becca's place. She already has the booze and I have a joint with your name on it."  
  
"Cheers," he says, raising his beer.  
  
"I'm glad you're back, man. This summer is going to be sicker than last summer, I can tell."  
  
They clink bottles and settle in, talking about the past semester, how Zayn handled school and how Louis handled working in the restaurant, leading the troops. Louis lives in Grace's shitty apartment year round and graciously lets Zayn stay with him every summer. Zayn has learned to love the old brown couch by the front door, and he knows Louis absolutely lives for the summer, for when Zayn comes breezing in again like he never left.  
  
And Louis being Louis, he hangs out in his towel the entire time until they leave for the restaurant, comfortable as ever, because he's ridiculous. Zayn absolutely loves him for it.

  
  
***

  
Walking into The Harbor feels a lot like walking into his childhood home after a long time away: different and yet exactly the same. The atmosphere might change a little here or there, with a new coat of paint or a few new faces to greet him, but it's the same as it's always been, homey and comforting. Zayn loves the feel of the boat house themed restaurant, set far out on the pier, waves crashing against the front window when the tide is high. He smiles to himself, feeling happy all over again that it's May.  
  
Louis high fives various coworkers as he makes his way behind the bar, as Zayn hugs the people he knows from past summers. Most of the guys in the kitchen are the same, guys Zayn has worked with for years, and there are only a few new servers.  
  
Zayn notices a gorgeous girl with long brown hair, about his age, eyeing him, trying to catch his eye so she can smile at him, and he's about to start a polite conversation, to work in how absolutely gay he is, when Louis does it for him.  
  
"Ah, I see you looking at Mr. Zayn Malik there, Michelle. But he loves dick way too much to eye you back, sorry doll."  
  
Michelle blushes furiously and walks away before Zayn can say sorry, or slap Louis, whichever, Zayn's not picky. He gives Louis his classic _really, Lou?_ face and starts getting ready for his first shift.  
  
Just then, John walks in.  
  
Now Zayn can wax poetic all day about how much he loves his Santa Barbara summers, how much he misses Lou when he's away, and how amazing it is to spend his nights getting drunk on the beach with a group of vagabonds like himself. But if he's honest, as of the last two summers, John is the best part. John is their manager at The Harbor. He's in his mid thirties, he's tall with dark brown hair and eyes, and his hands make Zayn weak in the knees. John is just the right side of sturdy and manly, without looking too domineering or intimidating. Zayn smiles and almost runs to hug him, but he doesn't. He holds in his excitement.  
  
John greets the dinner staff, walking around the tables as everyone sets them, chatting, putting on their aprons. It's when he walks behind Zayn that he feels it, the most addicting feeling in the world, the feeling of John's body close to his body. He runs his index finger against Zayn's palm as he passes. It's light, just a small touch, to let him know he's happy to see him. Zayn feels his cheeks redden, as he looks down and smiles. He can't wait to touch John more. But he has to keep himself in check.  
  
Because oh yeah, John is married.  
  
Zayn hates himself for it, beats himself up for it all summer. But not enough to stop. For whatever reason, when they're in the same room, they're like magnets. The first time they realized it two summers ago, when he was only nineteen, Zayn had knocked an entire tray of glasses to the floor in the kitchen, right as everyone walked out the back door to head to their beach party after a shift. John, before walking out to his car to head home to his wife, graciously stayed back to help Zayn clean up the glass.

They didn't even really talk while they cleaned, there was no chit chat, no polite conversation or silence filler. It was like one minute they were sweeping the floor, dancing around each other cautiously, and the next they were on each other. Zayn felt himself be pressed against the wall by the prep table, John's tongue in his mouth, and it was like he was lit on fire. They stumbled back to the manager's office and fucked right there on the desk. John bent him over it so fast, his head was spinning the entire time. And ever since, it was like they couldn't keep their hands off each other. Every summer, after almost every shift Zayn worked, he found himself either bent over that desk, or on his knees underneath it.  
  
It was addicting and he didn't know how to stop wanting it. So Zayn figured until the answer came to him, or until John stopped it, he'd go with it. At this point it felt like he had to.

  
  
  
***

  
His first shift back at The Harbor goes off without a hitch. It's like getting back into the driver's seat of the one thing he knew like the back of his hand: working a rush. The place is packed with tourists starting to make their way into town for the summer season, the locals out for the night before it gets too crazy. Santa Barbara City College has another week in session, so there are hoards of college kids at the bar, as well.  
  
Louis works the bar like a pro, like he always does, flirting with every girl who looks his way. Zayn, while running a tray of food past him, sees him in action and briefly wonders if this summer will be like last summer, with Louis fucking every girl he meets in his bedroom, while Zayn has to cover his ears with a pillow on the couch. He can hardly complain, what with Louis letting him stay for an obscenely cheap price, but still. He didn't particularly love listening to various girls screaming out his best friend's name on a constant loop. That was the upside of fucking your older, married boss: any and all hookups happen in offices, back seats, or in the alley behind the restaurant. He'd get depressed about it if he let it get to him, so he tries not to think about it too much.  
  
After the last customer leaves, the servers finish their side work and clean up the dining room. Louis keeps up tradition by plugging in his iPod and blasting music throughout the restaurant as he cleans up behind the bar and restocks the liquor. Finally they're finished and everyone laughs and links arms, as they make their way out the back door, heading to the beach not far from the restaurant, to party at Becca's beach house.  
  
Zayn purposefully hangs back, as he sees John quietly walk into his office. Zayn scratches at his neck, leaves his apron and keys on the prep table in the kitchen, and follows him in. John doesn't even let him close the door all the way. He just shoves Zayn against it so it latches, and attacks his mouth with his own.  
  
"I fucking missed you. Thank god you're back," he huffs out, in between kissing and biting Zayn's neck.  
  
"You missed me?"  
  
"Fuck, get on the desk, hurry up," he says, pushing Zayn slightly, rushing them to get a move on.  
  
Zayn smiles as he undoes his jeans and tugs them down to his knees, and then leans over the desk, facing the back wall.  
  
It's not the best situation, he knows it. He knows he shouldn't mess around with a guy who's married, a _straight_ guy who's married, who also happens to be his boss. But they're magnets. And Zayn hasn't felt like a magnet since he was thirteen years old, since his first kiss, when he couldn't hold it in any longer and surged forward towards the lips in front of him, like he couldn't help it, like they had a mind of their own.  
  
Zayn hasn't felt like a magnet since that Fourth of July when Harry Styles kissed him, right there under the pier, when they were thirteen and reckless.  
  
So if this is what Zayn has to do to feel magnetic, to feel wanted and needed, then he'll do it, for now. He'll let John open him up with his fingers like he can't help it, like he can't wait another second. And if he pushes back onto his hand and grips the edge of the desk, willing himself to forget about John's wife Kristin, the lovely woman who brings brownies to the staff sometimes, so be it. Because once he hears the condom wrapper, and once John finally pushes into Zayn with a desperate moan, Zayn can shut his brain off.  
  
He shuts his brain off now, and just rides it out. John grabs the back of his neck and hits that sweet spot, and suddenly, not much else matters.

  
  
***

  
When Zayn makes his way down the beach twenty minutes later, it's with a smile on his face. He hates himself all over again, but he can't help it. It had been a few weeks since he'd gotten laid, and since last summer since he'd gotten laid on a desk, so he lets himself enjoy it for a few minutes.  
  
Louis is already on his way to being completely drunk, which Zayn isn't surprised by at all, so he settles in with the group and has himself a beer from the cooler.  
  
They spend the rest of the night drinking, smoking the joint Louis promised him, singing along to the music playing from Becca's speakers, sitting around the fire. Zayn feels light and happy, like the summer is about to be the best summer yet. Louis must sense it too, because he keeps his arm around Zayn's shoulder as they tell stories from the past year. Louis fucked around with a tourist back in the spring, and they were caught by Grace fucking on the couch in the apartment, when Grace came up to bring him a new soup she'd made for the cafe. Apparently little old Grace didn't see the harm in just entering the apartment she fucking owns, and was met with the sight of Louis balls deep in a girl from Texas, right there on the shitty brown couch Zayn sleeps on every night.  
  
"That's my fucking bed, Lou!"  
  
"Not from September until April, dude. Can't help it, I had to. She was fucking gorgeous, Z. I had to!"  
  
They laugh and laugh, and Zayn wants to take this night and every conversation he has and put it in a bottle. He wants to bottle it and take it back to Bakersfield in August, so he can have it forever and cherish it when he's in a computer lab for too long, or when his mom calls him, complaining about how hectic life is without him living at home anymore.  
  
Just then, a few people on the other side of the fire and the other side of Zayn and Louis, get quiet. Zayn can sense that two people walked up to Becca's straight from the beach, from the direction of the pier. Louis senses it too because they both lean around the fire to get a better look, to see who's joined them.  
  
Zayn about has a fucking heart attack. Because one of the people standing in front of him now, closer to the sandy patio, with fire illuminating his perfect fucking face, is none other than Harry Styles, in his all his tall, grown man glory.  
  
Zayn feels his jaw drop. Louis sees it and doesn't know what's going on, why Zayn's acting like he's seen a ghost. So he nudges him and gives him the _what the fuck is happening?_ face, and Zayn doesn't even know how to react.  
  
The last time Zayn spoke to Harry Styles, was August of his thirteenth year. Harry's family was loaded, infamous around Santa Barbara for owning a massive house near the beach, where his parents hosted clam bakes and cocktail parties every weekend during the summer. Everyone was invited, all the locals and the business owners of the area, so the parties were always quite the big ordeal. Zayn's family went almost every time, dragging Zayn and his sisters along to that huge house, while Trisha and Yaser socialized and pretended they were more well off than they actually were. He remembers going and playing there when he was little, of the Styles kids and how fun they were to swim with, or eat at the kids table with. The two of them became inseparable, every summer, spent together like two little shitheads, playing around on the beach until they passed out from exhaustion every night. But that summer, the one he hit puberty, was different, better.  
  
That was one of Zayn's favorite summers, his thirteenth, the one he spent almost every weekend with just Harry, when his sisters wanted nothing to do with him during Santa Barbara weekends, and Harry's sister was older and more mature, so she disappeared every day to go to the beach. Harry and Zayn were attached at the hip even more than summers before, if you can believe it. They rode bikes along the beach, swam every day, ate ice cream on the pier every night, every weekend the Maliks came to town.  
  
And yeah, sure, they kissed under the pier on the Fourth of July, and it was perfect, and Zayn knew then and there that all he wanted to do for the rest of his life was touch boys, and have boys touch him, but that was it. In August, the Styles went back to Orange County and the Maliks stayed in Bakersfield. Harry gave Zayn a quick hug goodbye before leaving, and Zayn cried in the car on the way home.  
  
The Styles family returned every summer to their beach house, but Harry never came along again. Zayn heard that Harry didn't want to be away from his friends for months at a time, so he had permission to stay with their housekeeper instead, saying he was old enough to be without his parents.  
  
Zayn's not stupid, or unrealistic. Just because you kiss someone at thirteen doesn't mean you have to keep in touch. Sure, he expected Harry to call him or write him like he said he would, but when it didn't happen, he moved on. He found other boys to kiss, boys who wanted to hold his hand under the bleachers by the track at school, boys who sucked him off in the basement when his parents weren't home. Harry Styles was a passing fad. A really good, magnetic fad, but a fad nonetheless.  
  
But to see him again, in the flesh, as an adult, is enough to send Zayn over the edge.  
  
"Harry?" he says, standing up.  
  
"Zayn!"  
  
Harry stumbles over to him and pulls him into a hug. Zayn clutches his back. He smells like cologne and whiskey. Zayn hopes he doesn't smell like the restaurant. He vaguely wonders if he smells like John, but he pushes the thought out of his head.  
  
"How the fuck are you?" he says, stepping back, putting his hands on his hips.  
  
"Good, man. Really good. I go to UCLA. I'm studying law, you know how it is. What about you? Do you live here?" he says, gesturing the beach house behind them.  
  
"Oh no, we're all just hanging out here tonight. I'm only here for the summer to work."  
  
"Work?"  
  
"Uh, yeah at the restaurant on the pier. The Harbor. I'm a server there. Remember it?" he says, smiling. Luckily Louis has busied himself with talking to the girl Harry walked up the patio with, so Zayn is saved the embarrassment of trying to get High Louis to be nice to a stranger Zayn thinks is hot.  
  
"Oh, you work in a restaurant. On the pier. That's… that's really good," he says, with a tight smile.  
  
Zayn can immediately sense that something is amiss here. Sure, Harry hugged him and seemed excited to say hello, but he also seems twitchy. He's talking too fast and his eyes keep darting around. Zayn also gets the sense that Harry really doesn't think him working at a restaurant is good, that he thinks it's the opposite of good.  
  
Zayn tilts his head and stares at Harry, trying to take it all in, trying to figure out what Harry's saying without saying anything.  
  
Just then Louis introduces himself to Harry, so Zayn is saved from having to talk again for a moment. It's while his thoughts are swirling that he hears Harry and the girl, Sam, are staying in the pool house at his parents' place up the beach. Louis says something to him, so he snaps out of it.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I asked how you two knew each other," Louis says easy as anything, because he's curious.  
  
Zayn's about to answer, to say they knew each other as kids, that their families used to hang out, but Harry beats him to it.  
  
"My parents used to throw parties and invite the people who didn't have places to stay, people who didn't actually stay here in Santa Barbara, so we'd invite Zayn's family. They used to come over. To those parties. Sometimes," Harry says, with a defiant look on his face, as if he's challenging Zayn to say more.  
  
Now the whole thing is weird, and Zayn is finally starting to catch on. Clearly Harry doesn't want to say that they were friends, that their families were friends, or that Zayn was someone he gave even a small shit about. Zayn looks at his face, the face he used to know so well as a kid, and all he sees is a snob, a kid he used to know, who now wanders the beach in search of people to brag about UCLA to.  
  
"Yeah. Yeah, that's how we know each other," he says, glaring back at Harry. "We didn't actually stay here for the entire summer, because my parents had jobs, you know. Had to work. So we came on the weekends, and the Styles were just _so nice_ to invite us over, to let us eat some free food. Throw us a bone."  
  
Louis looks at Zayn, and then at Harry, back and forth, his head snapping each time. He feels the weird energy too, it seems.  
  
Harry tenses up and Zayn sees his entire body lean forward. He's pissed.  
  
"Yeah, you guys sure loved to eat that free food. Your sisters liked our pool too, bless them," he sneers.  
  
The girl with Harry, Sam something, gives Louis a look and grabs Harry's arm, to pull him back towards the beach, to leave. Zayn gives them a tight smile, to send them on their way.  
  
"Well it was sure great seeing you, Harry. If you have time, feel free to come to the restaurant on the pier. You know the pier, you remember where it is," he says, crossing his arms. He's not evil, he won't give away what Harry clearly seems to think is a secret, the fact that he kissed Zayn, but Zayn won't let him forget it. Not in a million fucking years.  
  
Harry just glares at him and shakes his head, walking backwards, stumbling into Sam. They finally get back to the beach and on their way, when Louis rounds on him.  
  
"What in the ever loving fuck was _that_ about?"  
  
"It was nothing, Lou."  
  
"That wasn't nothing, that was something. That was some grade-A hatred if I've ever seen it. Shit," he says, running a hand through his hair, settling back down by the fire. Zayn sits with him and continues drinking his beer.  
  
"Just drop it."  
  
Louis isn't a moron, so he does, thankfully.  
  
Zayn lights a cigarette and leans back, looking at the sky, listening to the waves. All he can think now, after his perfect night was ruined, is fuck Harry Styles. Fuck Harry Styles and his stuck up ass, and fuck his house, and fuck his UCLA law degree.  
  
If he wants to pretend like Zayn is a piece of trash, a kid he used to take pity on, then fuck him.  
  
Fuck Harry Styles.

  
  
***

  
That night, as Zayn tries in vain to fall asleep on the shitty brown couch in the apartment, he can't help but think of his first kiss again. Harry had said standing under the pier at night was fun, that the waves hitting the wood made a cool sound, so Zayn followed him. Harry always had the best ideas. He was so adventurous and courageous, Zayn was constantly in awe of him.  
  
The fireworks weren't meant to start for another fifteen minutes, so they laughed and ran around the wooden beams, splashing water like they were five again.  
  
They only stopped running because Harry had grabbed Zayn around the middle and tugged him closer. Zayn was breathing heavy and he saw Harry's curls blow around his face, from not just the wind, but from Zayn's breath as well. They stared at each other for a moment and then it was like time stopped. It was like magnets. Harry leaned forward and it was like Zayn's entire body also had to lean in. Their lips touched and Zayn almost keeled over from relief. He knew he had a crush on Harry, that Harry made his stomach feel funny, but he didn't anticipate this. He didn't think boys did this, especially not boys like Harry, who had girls following him around everywhere he went that summer.  
  
Zayn's first kiss was with his first crush, and it was more than he ever could've asked for. They held hands and kissed until the fireworks started, when they came out from under the pier and watched from the sand, the waves licking their toes.  
  
Zayn falls asleep that night, thinking of kisses and fireworks.  
  
He also thinks, it's too bad _that_ Harry went away, and an asshole came back in his place. It's really too bad.

  
  
***

  
Zayn briefly wakes up a few hours later, to the sounds of screeching tires and crunching metal. It sounds close, but far at the same time. It sounds like a car wreck, and Zayn briefly thinks to himself, in his sleepy haze, that it's a shame that people get in car wrecks in the middle of the night, when people are too sleepy to run outside.  
  
He rolls over and faces the back of the couch, sleep taking over again.

  
  
***

  
The next day, while setting up for the lunch shift at work, Becca runs in and asks if he heard the news.  
  
"What news?"  
  
"That guy, the guy who came to my place last night, the one you hugged. The Styles kid, he crashed his fucking car last night, going down Cabrillo!"  
  
Zayn stops rolling silverware and stares at her. Because he heard it, he heard that crash the night before, and just went back to sleep.  
  
"Is he okay?"  
  
"Yeah, he wrapped his fucking Maserati around a pole, though." Zayn lets out a harsh breath as she continues, "My dad said he heard the Styles were absolutely pissed about it. Apparently he's quite the little shithead and they brought him here this summer for him to get his shit together. Just thought you'd want to know!"  
  
She bounces out of the dining room towards the kitchen, leaving Zayn standing there alone. He can't believe he was just concerned about Harry, the prick who showed his true colors the night before. He wants to tell himself to roll his eyes and not care.  
  
But in the end, he doesn't know how to feel. He's glad Harry wasn't hurt. But then he tells himself to stop thinking about him, and he forces himself to roll his eyes, to make himself feel sorry for the probably gorgeous Maserati on its way to the junkyard.

  
  
***

  
The next day, during his second shift, Zayn sees Mr. Styles walking into John's office, with a concerned look on his face.  
  
And the day after that, as he's helping Louis set up behind the bar, it's like his entire fucking summer crumbles like a piece of paper he's about to toss in the garbage.  
  
Because in walks Mr. Styles with Harry trailing behind him, a sour look on his face, and a cut on his forehead above his right eye.  
  
John calls everyone to the bar for their pre-shift meeting, just as the staff all notice the intrusion, the obvious look of rich people wandering into their midst.  
  
"Everyone, this is Harry. He's going to be joining us as a server for the rest of the summer, so we're going to want to make sure he's good and comfortable tonight, so he can get a feel for the flow of the dinner rush."  
  
Zayn's jaw drops and he stares at John like it's a fucking joke. Then the glances at Harry, who is wearing a look of utter and complete disgust. Clearly he finds himself to be above the whole thing, an Orange County trust fund baby who is being forced to do this by daddy.  
  
Zayn doesn't have time to babysit someone who's never worked in a restaurant before, and he certainly doesn't have time to deal with Harry Styles or his bullshit. So Zayn silently vows to himself that this will not ruin his whole goddamn summer. John keeps talking about what to expect for the shift, as Mr. Styles leaves and gives Harry a stern look that basically says _don't fuck this up or there will be hell to pay._  
  
Zayn wants to throw himself off the pier.  
  
Harry rolls his eyes at the whole thing and looks at his shoes, zoning out and not even listening to a word John is saying. Zayn's hands start to shake with fury, as he looks at Louis and shakes his head. This is not going to be good for his temper.  
  
Fuck Harry Styles.


	2. Chapter 2

Zayn considers himself to be a pretty pragmatic person. Sure, he can get a little fired up when pushed around, but for the most part, he sees situations in front of him for what they are. Some things just are, and you should leave them be. He knows which situations are good, and which situations are bad. He's an observer, so he catches on fairly quickly. He also knows that once people show you their true colors, there's really no changing them, or changing your own mind, or worrying about it. Just ride it out, let it go, whatever will be will be, que sera sera, and all that shit.  
  
So Zayn's just as surprised as anyone over his reaction to Harry Styles working at The Harbor.  
  
"It's like, if you don't even want to be here, why the fuck are you, you know?" Zayn says to Louis, as they roll silverware behind the bar before the dinner shift, as one of the other servers shows Harry around the kitchen. "So daddy dropped you off, so what. Just leave and pretend you were here, and save the rest of us from having to see your dumb fucking face for an entire shift!"  
  
Louis, being Louis, calls him on it right away.  
  
"You do realize what you're doing, right?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"You're acting like you don't give a shit, when in actuality, you give so much of a shit, you're practically bursting with it."  
  
"Oh fuck off, Lou," he huffs out, as he walks around the bar to light the candles on the tables near them.  
  
"I'm serious, Zayn. Why do you care so much if this guy is here? So whatever, you didn't get along as kids. You don't like each other. Avoid him and walk the other way. It's not hard," he says, with a smile on his face.  
  
Zayn doesn't have much to say back to that, so he instead busies himself with the candles on tables at the very opposite end of the restaurant, just because, thank you very much. But life can never be fair or easy, so John chooses that exact moment to approach him and send him in a tailspin. It's his speciality, after all. John stands next to him as he flicks his lighter a few times, trying in vain to light the candle on the farthest table from the bar.  
  
"Hey," he says quietly, lightly touching Zayn's elbow with his index finger, back to the restaurant so no one can see.  
  
"Why did we hire the Styles kid? Why?"  
  
In a low voice, John says, "Because his dad asked me to, and he really needs Harry to start acting like a grownup. I felt bad and we needed another server. Why does it matter?"  
  
"It doesn't."  
  
"I'm going back to the office for a while before the reservations start coming in," John says even softer, finger still running along Zayn's arm. "Can you come in for a few minutes? I'd like to talk about a few things."  
  
Zayn sighs, gives John a knowing look, and then smiles to himself. They rarely do anything before a shift, usually waiting until after everyone leaves so they don't get caught. But Zayn has to admit it, he likes this look on John, the look on his face that says he can't wait any longer, that he's itching for Zayn to touch him. And Zayn's not cruel, he knows he has to give him what he needs.  
  
Unfortunately for Zayn, he can't exactly focus on John's dick in his mouth, what with the thought of Harry Styles being in his work environment for the next few months rolling around in his head nonstop. He tries to focus, to do that thing with his tongue that makes John hold his head that much harder, but he can't. He can only envision Harry's sour face, the way he couldn't even be bothered to listen during their meeting earlier, the way he practically turned his nose up at Zayn the other night. Since when did Harry Styles, the curly headed kid from his childhood, the kid who used to laugh so hard that milk came out of his nose, become such a prick?  
  
John pulls Zayn's hair about then, pretty hard actually, and Zayn realizes he must've lost focus entirely. So he steels himself, pushes himself further up on his knees, careful not to hit his head on the underside of the desk, and gets back to the task at hand. He moves his head up, with John's hand now holding his hair even tighter, sucking at just the head. He feels spit getting on his hand at the base, feels the ache in his jaw, but he knows John is close. He always knows. He does the thing with his tongue, the thing where he swallows and moves it from side to side along the underside of his dick, and relaxes his whole face while he bobs up and down. John grunts out one final time, grabbing onto Zayn's shoulder as well, as he spills down his throat.  
  
Zayn quickly eases John out of his mouth so he can breathe properly. John reaches down to run his thumb over Zayn's bottom lip, and even though he can't see his face, Zayn knows he's smiling. He always gives a polite smile when Zayn does this.  
  
Zayn crawls from under the desk and around the chair legs, to try and look presentable before walking back out to the restaurant. He knows the dinner rush is going to start soon, so he looks in the small mirror on the back wall behind John's desk, smoothing his hair.  
  
"Do you need me to help you out? I can use my hand really quick," John says nicely, looking up at him from his chair, smiling.  
  
"No, I'm good. I have to hurry and make sure my section is good. Tonight's going to be busy," he says, adjusting his collar, tucking his shirt back in. Zayn would never say it outloud, that he wasn't even hard, because he wouldn't want to hurt John's feelings, but you can't exactly blame a guy. He was fucking distracted.  
  
"Let Harry shadow you, okay? He needs to see how it all works."  
  
"Why can't someone else do it?"  
  
"Because I'm asking you."  
  
"Why me?"  
  
"Zayn."  
  
"Fine," he sighs, rolling his eyes. "But you owe me."  
  
John just turns back to his computer, shaking his head. They both know John's his boss and owes him jack shit, but they let it go.  
  
It's as Zayn walks out of the office and peers around both corners to make sure no one sees him leaving that he thinks to himself it might be nice to have a shadow for the night. He can make Harry do all the side work he doesn't want to do, and maybe he'll even get out early.  
  
Because fuck Harry Styles, that's why.

  
  
***

  
As it turns out, Harry isn't terrible. He's not _great_ , or by any means the absolute best at serving the nice people of Santa Barbara and the sweet tourists, but he's not the shit show Zayn expected. Zayn greets every table with a devilish smile, the smile he knows earns him extra money, the smile that leaves wives fanning themselves, and husbands puffing out their chests to seem bigger than him. And when he gestures to Harry to say he'll be shadowing him, Harry smiles just as big, just as bright, and entire families leave the restaurant happier and with thinner wallets. Zayn would hate him for it, if he didn't get a massive cut of the tips they earn.  
  
Every time Zayn tells Harry to do something, he does it. Zayn has him help carry large trays of food and Harry doesn't even blink. Even Zayn has to admit that his first night serving, he dropped a tray of salads all over the floor, and here's Harry with no problems at all. Harry grabs the correct drinks from the bar and gives them to the correct people, he makes sure the guys in the kitchen are on top of the entrees, and Zayn's even surprised to see Harry help out a few other servers when they need extra hands to carry food.  
  
Zayn can feel himself getting more and more agitated as the night goes on, though. He feels like a child for being annoyed at Harry for being good at the job, but he can't help it. Of fucking course Harry Styles can do this job, he can probably do any job and charm the panties off every girl he comes in contact with.  
  
So when he spots Louis giving him a knowing look from behind the bar halfway through the night, he pretends like he doesn't.  
  
After the diners all leave and the servers begin their closing work, Louis corners him.  
  
"He did good."  
  
"Yeah he did okay," Zayn says, wiping down the last table in his section.  
  
"Looked to me like he did great. As far as I can tell, everyone's happy with him, so that's something."  
  
"Whatever."  
  
"Dude, I give up. I'm done with my shit, I'm heading to Becca's now. I'll see you soon, yeah?"  
  
Zayn doesn't look up from the table, just continues to wipe it down. Louis sighs loudly and dramatically, and walks towards the kitchen. Zayn hears various other servers saying goodbye to each other, as they start grabbing their stuff from the back room to head to the beach. Zayn has the brief thought that maybe he doesn't even want to go. Maybe he should just go back and hang out with Grace, let her fret over him and give him pie. Pie's nice, he likes pie.  
  
Just then, because seriously, life can never be fair or easy, Harry walks up to him, holding his apron and jacket.  
  
"So, I didn't know if I was supposed to do anything else. Michelle and Shana had me help them finish their side work in the kitchen, but they left while I was in the bathroom. So I don't know what I'm supposed to do," he says, scratching at the back of his neck.  
  
"Did you do everything they told you to do?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Well then you're done. You can go," Zayn says, like it's obvious. He throws the rag into the bucket near the bar and walks towards the back room to grab his stuff.  
  
Harry follows after him.  
  
"So I heard people talking about the beach. Is that what you guys do after shifts, go to the beach? To that house I saw you at a few nights ago?"  
  
"Yeah, we go to the beach," Zayn says, not looking at him.  
  
"Oh, that's cool. That house was really nice. Sick fire."  
  
"I guess."  
  
Zayn finally turns to look at Harry and sees an eager and expectant look on his face. Clearly he wants to be invited, to be included. Zayn could invite him, because everyone is always invited to Becca's house after work. It's tradition. Zayn doesn't even want to go, so he could easily tell Harry to go ahead and not have to deal with him at all.  
  
But Zayn's a dick. And even though he's pragmatic most of the time, the kind of person who can see a situation and know that it's okay, that maybe Harry isn't as awful as he originally thought, he doesn't care.  
  
Harry won't stop looking at him.  
  
"So I guess you'll be back here tomorrow then, for the lunch shift. You'll probably work with me again, so…" Zayn says, as if he practically banged a gavel, put an end to the entire thing.  
  
Harry sees it and deflates.  
  
"Oh yeah, yeah okay. I'll see you tomorrow then. Have a good night, Zayn."  
  
Harry turns and walks out of the back room towards the front door. Zayn could call after him and say that they all normally leave through the back door, towards the parking lot, and let Harry in on another restaurant tip, but he doesn't. He lets Harry leave however he wants, because he doesn't know any better.  
  
Zayn really is a dick.  
  
He doesn't go to Becca's. He goes back to the apartment, doesn't even go to see Grace like he knows he should, and instead flops himself down on the couch, fully clothed, to think about how much of a dick he is.

  
  
***

  
Apparently Harry Styles can play the dick game too. Because it's during the next day's lunch shift that Zayn gets a taste of his own medicine.  
  
Just as Zayn goes to approach his first table, a group of elderly women probably visiting wine country for the first time, to smile his smile and tell them his name and the specials, Harry rushes in front of him and gets there first.  
  
"Hello ladies, how are we doing today? My name is Harry and I'm going to be taking care of you," he says, hands behind his back, smiling like he's the fucking President. "This here is Zayn, he's going to be shadowing me today, to learn the ropes. Don't be too harsh on him though, he's just so new to this, bless him."  
  
Harry turns and gives Zayn the sweetest, most condescending look possible. Zayn's pretty sure if anyone put a camera on him right now, he'd be red flagged and put on the FBI's watch list for potential serial killers.  
  
It's as they walk away towards the computer that Zayn rounds on him.  
  
"You little fucking prick. What the hell was that about?"  
  
"You said I'd be working with you today, not that I'd be shadowing you. And I want to actually start serving people, instead of following you around like a jackass. So you can go ahead and grab their drinks, while I put in their appetizer, sound good?" he says, smiling at Zayn again, sweet as ever.  
  
"Fuck that, you want the table, take it," Zayn says over his shoulder, stomping away.  
  
Zayn fully expects Harry to get in the weeds, to get overwhelmed on his first fucking shift like most servers do, to ask Zayn a million questions, or show even a slight furrow in his brow. But no, Harry Styles is apparently perfect, because Zayn watches from the bar as Harry handles four tables at once. He charms each and every one of them, in fact. He doesn't look like he's nervous, or that he's sweating about doing it on his own on his second fucking day. Zayn hates it.  
  
John approaches him, finally noticing that Harry isn't actually shadowing Zayn during the shift, and asks what the hell is going on. Zayn can't even say it, so he just wildly gestures to Harry making the rounds at his tables, and stomps off towards the kitchen.  
  
John doesn't approach him again all day, and it's with shaking hands that Zayn sees the schedule that night, for the rest of the week, where Harry is on his own each and every time, no more help needed.  
  
Louis sees his face as he looks at the piece of paper tacked up on the manager's door, and quickly scurries away towards the bar, leaving Zayn to stew alone.

  
  
***

  
Zayn and Louis sit around the fire at Becca's hours later after their double shift, drinking beer and smoking a joint, but Zayn still hasn't settled down from the anger he felt earlier. And more than that, someone actually thought to invite Harry this time, so down on the sand, Harry laughs with some of the guys from the kitchen, passing around a bottle of rum. Zayn hates it.  
  
The girl Zayn saw with Harry before walks up then, and plops down next to him in the sand, his arm immediately going around her small shoulders, her long brown hair flying around in the wind. Zayn narrows his eyes and wonders what that's all about, who she even is. He can sense that Louis is getting bored with him, so he gets up and goes to sit by Harry and that Sam girl. Zayn can hear them laughing from his place by the fire, and he hates it.  
  
If he were being truthful with himself, he'd admit that he wishes John could be here with him, arm around his shoulders, stubble against his own. At least when John's around Zayn has imminent sex to look forward to, a hand to hold, a gorgeous person to laugh with.  
  
Zayn hates the whole fucking thing. He wants to leave.  
  
So he stands up and wobbles on unsteady legs to tell Lou he's about to go, when Louis, Sam, and Harry stand up and turn towards the house, turn towards him.  
  
"Z, where are you going?" Louis asks, as he puts an arm around Sam, as she smiles.  
  
"I'm tired, I want to head out."  
  
"Do you want me to come with?"  
  
"I sort of thought you would," he says with a question in his voice. Of fucking course he wants Louis to come with. He can't exactly eat pie at Grace's by himself at this time of night.  
  
Louis gets a look on his face then, a look Zayn hates, that basically says _really, dude?_ so Zayn rolls his eyes and turns to walk away.  
  
It's then that he hear Harry's laugh. It's not especially loud, or even a laugh that was meant for him, but for some reason it irks him beyond belief and he doesn't know why. So he turns back to them and walks the few steps to Harry.  
  
"You have something to say, Styles? What's so funny?"  
  
Harry looks taken aback at first, but then immediately steps towards Zayn in retaliation. "I wasn't laughing at you, dude. You can go now."  
  
"Fuck you, you've been here for what, five minutes, and now you're telling me what I can do?"  
  
"What the fuck is your problem, Zayn?"  
  
"What the fuck is _your_ problem?"  
  
Louis steps in then, to get between them. They had been inching closer and closer the louder their voices got, and Louis and Sam both look upset now. He puts a hand on Zayn's arm and pulls him back, while Sam grabs for Harry's hands. She forces his head to look at her.  
  
"Harry, you need to chill out. Why are you two like this?" she says, slightly hysterically, right in his face.  
  
"Fuck him, Sam. Fuck him."  
  
Zayn's about to lunge forward to beat the shit out of Harry Styles once and for all when Louis grabs his arm again.  
  
"Seriously, this is fucked up. You two need to talk. Like really talk. It seems you both have shit to say, so go say it. You two, go take a walk, cool off, and fucking _talk_ , okay?" Louis says, pushing at Zayn, pushing him towards the beach.  
  
"That sounds like a great idea. Go on," Sam says, pushing Harry towards the beach as well.  
  
Zayn stomps off in the sand towards the water, furious that he's being forced into this. He knows if tries to get out of it or walk home, he'll never hear the end of it from Louis. But besides that, maybe he would like to talk to Harry in private, so he can lay into him and tell him how much a fucking asshole he really is. He can hear Harry's feet in the sand behind him. It's not until they're away from Becca's patio, away from the fire, and in the sand closer to the water, when Zayn finally turns to Harry, hands on his hips, ready for the knock down, drag out fight that's sure to follow.  
  
"Well?"  
  
"Well what?" Harry asks, like they're talking about the goddamn weather or something.  
  
"What the fuck do you have to say to me, Harry?"  
  
"Seems like you're the one who needs to talk," he says, looking at the water, kicking his foot out.  
  
"Oh that's just great, make _me_ look like the dick here. Like I'm the one who has years worth of pent up shit to say. Yeah, that's me," he says, rolling his eyes.  
  
"I don't have anything pent up for you, Zayn. What does that even mean?"  
  
"It means the second I saw you again, the second you walked up to that fire a few days ago, with a shit attitude and your nose in the air, you've had quite the opinion of me. So go ahead, Harry. Lay it on me. And don't be kind, shithead. I can take it."  
  
Zayn can feel his heart rate accelerating, his breathing becoming erratic, now that he's finally saying what he's wanted to say.  
  
But Harry won't look at him now, and only has eyes for the ocean, eyes for the pier to their left. Zayn waits, gives him a minute, to finally tell Zayn how much he feels sorry for him, the kid from fucking Bakersfield who has to work in a restaurant to put himself through school, the kid who never lived on the beach.  
  
Harry doesn't say any of that though, which almost knocks Zayn over.  
  
"You were my first kiss, you know."  
  
"What?" Zayn says, jaw practically hitting the sand.  
  
"When we kissed, on the Fourth that one year, under the pier. It was my first kiss and I almost threw up I was so nervous."  
  
Zayn, hands still on his hips, just stares at him. He didn't expect this declaration, and he doesn't know where Harry's going with it. He decides to be honest, to see what Harry's up to.  
  
"It was my first kiss too."  
  
Harry looks at him then, astonished. "Was it really? I thought for sure you'd kissed a bunch of times before me. You were good at it."  
  
"What?"  
  
"You were good at it, I felt like such a loser."  
  
"It was my first time, Haz."  
  
Harry looks away again, towards the ocean, but Zayn can see him smiling. Zayn is still lost, and is unsure what to do now. He lets Harry smile at the ocean some more, until finally Harry stops smiling, and looks at him again.  
  
"I knew from an early age that boys don't kiss other boys, okay? My dad would fucking kill me if he knew I kissed a boy under that pier," he says, pointing at it. "So I left after that summer and never kissed another boy again. I kissed a shit ton of girls, fucked a few of them, but I never looked back. So when I saw you around that fire, and you started talking to me like we were friends again, like it was okay for boys to kiss other boys, for that to happen and for things to be okay afterwards, I freaked out. And I did the only thing I knew how to do, which was be a snob. I've seen my dad do it my entire life, so it wasn't exactly hard. And then you got mad, so I was a dick to you, because I was nervous, and then it all kind of snowballed."  
  
"What?" Zayn says, feeling like it's the only fucking word he knows how to say.  
  
"So I'm sorry, okay? Sorry for being a dick to you. And sorry for taking your tables today," Harry says, looking down at his toes in the sand. "I'm sorry that I got drunk and crashed my car like a fucking idiot, and my dad had to bail me out and shove me into your restaurant, to keep me busy. I'm just… I'm sorry."  
  
Zayn continues to stand there in disbelief. He knew Harry didn't want to bring up their past in front of people, didn't want strangers to know about their kiss under the pier, but he didn't realize Harry was that afraid of it. Zayn apparently has taken for granted the fact that him being gay was never even an issue in his house, the fact that when he told his parents two short years after his first kiss that he was into guys, they didn't even bat an eye. (Apparently they knew he was gay when he was four, because he told everyone on their block, numerous times, how handsome Aladdin was. Go figure.) He just never thought about Harry's side of the kiss, what it was like for him to realize he kissed a boy. It must not have been easy, being a Styles kid and knowing who you are isn't okay.  
  
Zayn realizes he's been standing there in silence when Harry clears his throat. Their eyes finally meet.  
  
"Sorry for being a dick to you that night, for making it sound like I'd throw that kiss back in your face. I wouldn't have," he says, putting his hands in his pockets.  
  
"I know."  
  
"And for what it's worth, no one knows."  
  
"Oh, okay. That's… that's good," Harry says, running a hand through his hair, the top of it standing up even more than it had been.  
  
"So like… can we be done with this now? Can we stop being like this to each other? It really sucks," Zayn sighs.  
  
Harry laughs at that, a huge laugh that contorts his entire face, his head thrown back. "Yeah Zayn, we can be done now."  
  
They smile at each other, for what feels like the first time since they were thirteen.  
  
It feels nice.

  
  
***

  
After that, it's pretty easy. Zayn doesn't see Harry as the enemy anymore, and Harry sees Zayn as the kid he used to lead around in various adventures, laughing along the way.  
  
Harry can't help but charm people, after all, so in no time at all, the entire restaurant staff are wrapped around his finger. He remembers the names of all the chefs' wives, he helps out when servers need extra hands, he compliments the hosts on their earrings. Louis of course loves him, loves his stupid jokes and cheeky banter with the customers. They've started to swap the best intro lines to talk to tables and people at the bar, to see who can charm the best and get the most tips. Zayn doesn't hate it so much anymore.  
  
It's also apparent to the entire population of Santa Barbara that Zayn Malik and Harry Styles are a force to be reckoned with. Because whenever they have sections next to each other in the restaurant, it's like the room is somehow lighter, more magnetic. They maneuver around each other, in a weird sync, and it's almost perplexing how well it works. It's like they can time their movements by each other, one handing the other a towel when he needs it, grabbing each others' food from the kitchen and delivering it to be nice. Zayn never needs to run back to the bar to grab anyone a straw, because it seems like whenever he's about to tell a customer he'll go grab one, there's Harry pulling a few out of his apron, smiling and handing them over. Zayn can almost time, to the minute, when Harry will need to go to the kitchen, so he always makes sure to walk around and fill the water glasses in his section, so Harry won't have to.  
  
They go to the beach almost every night, the group of Harbor coworkers getting tighter and tighter. Sam, Harry's best and oldest friend, is always invited and she has great music on her iPod, so she fits right in. Some nights they all go out to the bars together, down the street from the restaurant, and dance until they head back to Becca's and watch the sun come up. Louis pulls Zayn into a hug one night, and says into his ear that he's having the best summer of his life, and it isn't until Zayn pulls away and sees a tear in his eye that he tells him right back that he's having a great fucking summer too.  
  
Zayn and Harry slip back into their childhood routine of getting into mischief and going on adventures together, with Louis and Sam and the rest of their Harbor friends tagging along, running along the beach, playing around on the pier after work, organizing karaoke nights, and it's amazing. Every once and a while, Zayn will catch Harry's eye, no matter where they are, and they smile. They lock eyes and it's like they're kids again, like those two little shithead magnets who couldn't stay away from each other.  
  
It's after a few weeks of this, of the constant restaurant shifts and after work beach nights, after Harry says something so ridiculously stupid that Zayn has to wipe his eyes from laughter right there in the middle of the restaurant, that Louis gives him another signature knowing look from behind the bar.  
  
Zayn promptly ignores it.

  
  
***

  
Because of the madness of the last few weeks, Zayn hardly sees John outside of work at all. Sure, he's blown him a few times between the lunch and dinner shifts, under the desk like always, but Zayn's always too rushed to have John help him out in return. He just smiles, gives him a sweet kiss, and straightens his clothes as he slips back out the door again.  
  
It's after the dinner shift one night that Zayn sees John give him a look, a look as he walks towards his office, a look that says _you better follow me or else_.  
  
So Zayn waves everyone off, and tells Harry he'll be at the beach in half an hour after he calls his sisters and says goodnight. He takes a breath and heads towards the office door.  
  
John barely lets him close it again, just shoves Zayn against it and flips the lock, kissing his neck.  
  
"Why haven't you come to see me lately?" he breathes into his ear.  
  
"I've been busy, you know that."  
  
"You've never been too busy for this before," as he slides his hand up and over Zayn's growing erection. "Don't you want it?"  
  
Zayn can't think, can't remember why he hasn't been to see John lately, not with John's massive hand holding his dick. His breath starts to pick up.  
  
"No, no I want it. I want it, I swear."  
  
"You sure?"  
  
"Yeah, I'm sure. I want it," he breathes out heavier, as John bites his ear, grabbing at his cock harder.  
  
John moves back then and grabs Zayn by the shirt, moving him towards the desk. Zayn hurries to undo his jeans, to throw them down around his thighs, pulling his shirt up right under his armpits, bending over the desk like it's the last thing he'll ever do. Before he knows it, John's slick fingers are inside him, moving in a deliciously slow circle, as he stretches him to his liking. Zayn can't stop his moans then, can see his breath coming out on the desk's surface.  
  
"You want me to fuck you, Zayn?"  
  
"Yeah, I want it."  
  
"Tell me again."  
  
"I want it, come on. I want it," he practically begs now, fingers gripping the edge of the desk.  
  
John fucks him hard this time. He fucks him really hard, with Zayn's cheek rubbing against the smooth desk, his knees knocking against the wood. And when he comes, it's with a cry so loud, he's happy no one is in the restaurant, sure someone in the fucking kitchen would've heard. John pulls out and throws the condom to the side, just as he comes across Zayn's back, a hand in Zayn's hair.  
  
Zayn lays there for a few minutes, trying to catch his breath, while John cleans them up.  
  
It's not until John pulls Zayn's jeans up and does the zipper for him, that he finally says, "Next time don't wait so long to come see me, okay? I can't wait that long."  
  
"Yeah, okay. I won't."  
  
Zayn leaves through the back door, and walks to the beach, his thoughts all over the place. He realizes that John hasn't been that rough with him before, he hasn't needed it that badly. And clearly he said he can't wait that long, so he must not be getting any at home. John is married and the only sex he's having is with a guy who works for him, on his desk, every so often in an empty restaurant. He sort of feels bad for John. But then he thinks he feels bad for his wife. He also feels bad for himself, but he tries not to think about that.  
  
Zayn decides then and there that he needs to cut back on whatever he's doing with John. They've been doing it for too long, for too many summers now, and it just doesn't feel right. Not anymore.  
  
If Zayn was being honest with himself, if he really thought about it harder, he probably would've come up with some sort of magnet analogy again, would've thought of his magnetic pull with John and how lately, it's not so clear. Or how lately it's like he's being pulled somewhere else, being pulled towards another magnet.  
  
But that thought is too terrifying, so Zayn doesn't think about it at all.

  
  
***

  
Zayn is quiet on the beach that night, while everyone drinks and laughs around him. He just sits and stares at the fire, smokes cigarette after cigarette, and drinks a few beers. He can't stop thinking about how he's let himself become the kid who fucks his boss, his married boss, and he wonders how he got here. He also wonders how it's taken him so goddamn long to actually think about his actions and what they mean.  
  
It hits him then that he saw Harry as a snob when he first arrived, looked at Harry with disgust and annoyance, when he's the one who is a bad person, the one doing something so awful. It's almost ironic, how terrible of a person he's been, when all he wanted to do since arriving this summer was shove at Harry Styles for not being overly excited to see him.  
  
Go fucking figure.  
  
Harry sits down next to him then, and puts his head on Zayn's shoulder, offering him another beer that he gratefully takes. Louis and Sam are running around in the sand, high as kites from the weed they smoked earlier. Zayn envies that, the sheer joy a person can feel when running around with someone who makes your heart sing. He can tell Louis likes Sam, that Sam is completely into Louis, and that they'll probably be very happy together. He wouldn't know what it means to be happy, not with John, or anyone else. Certainly not Harry, straight, or in the closet, or whatever the fuck he is, Harry.  
  
"What are you thinking about?"  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"Tell your face that. Because it sure looks like you're thinking about something," Harry says, snuggling up to him closer.  
  
"It's nothing, I swear. I'm just tired. Worn out, you know."  
  
"Well if you ever feel like talking, I'm here. I know I wasn't for a while, but… I'm here."  
  
"I know, Haz. Thanks."  
  
"No, thank you. Thanks for letting me crash your summer. I'm having the best fucking time with you guys, you don't even know. I've never had fun like this before, not since I was thirteen, I think."  
  
Zayn stills then, the hand holding his beer midway to his mouth, when he realizes what Harry's just said. Harry's drunk and doesn't even realize it, so Zayn pretends like it's no big deal. He let's Harry stay on his shoulder, while they drink and look at the fire.  
  
"You were my best friend, Zayn. Did you know that? When we were little? My best fucking friend," Harry says, closing his eyes and sighing, drunk as all hell.  
  
Zayn wants to put his arm around him, wants to pull him closer and tell him he was always his best friend, even after he left. He wants to tell Harry that his first kiss was his best kiss, and that he's always thought about it when he needed to be in a good mood. But he doesn't. And Harry moves even closer to him then, putting his face into Zayn's neck.  
  
It's about then that Zayn realizes they're magnets again.

  
  
***

  
It's unfortunate then, that John doesn't realize Zayn's pulling away, until it's too late. Zayn probably should've told him, warned him that he wasn't going to blow him anymore, give him kisses between shifts, be the person to touch John when he's aching for it. He just stops cold turkey and stays as far away from John as he can. Zayn knows himself, knows he can't deal with the guilt anymore, the shame he feels when he looks in the mirror at the person he's become. He also can't touch John without thinking about touching Harry, and he knows that's even more wrong, so he has to stop.  
  
But John won't let him, not that easily, not after the years they've been doing this, so he corners him a few weeks after Zayn stopped and looks him dead in the eye, while Zayn gets his section ready for the dinner shift.  
  
"Why aren't you coming to see me anymore?" he says in a rushed whisper, as Zayn lights candles.  
  
"I just… I needed a break, okay? It's just a lot, John."  
  
"What do you mean? What does that even mean?"  
  
"Don't you ever fucking feel _bad_? Don't you feel bad for it?" Zayn says in a harsh whisper, finally looking at him again.  
  
"Of course I fucking feel bad, Zayn. _Of course_ I do. But I can't-" he sputters, not knowing how to finish the sentence. "I just… I need you to come see me tonight, okay? Just come see me tonight after work, tonight. Just tonight. Okay?"  
  
Zayn looks into his pleading eyes and feels sorry for him. He feels sorry for John, and his wife, and himself, and he hates himself for nodding, but he does it anyways, and tells him he'll see him later. He hangs his head as John walks away, knowing the night is going to be tough.  
  
Zayn waits until after the hectic dinner shift, after Louis has stocked the bar, and the entire staff has left, going to Becca's, or the bars, or home. It was a crazy night, so everyone felt a little frazzled, scattered. Zayn's not sure who's going where, who's in the mood to drink, any of it. He certainly isn't in the mood for much, but he knows what he's about to walk into. So he goes to John's office, hoping that at least it'll be good, will at least wear him out so he can go home and sleep the night off. There's also a small voice in his head that tells him he'll never have this with Harry, so he might as well feel good, any way that he can.  
  
He walks in and John is sitting at his desk, brow furrowed, looking at his computer screen. Zayn nudges the door as he walks towards the desk. He walks right up to him, and climbs into his lap so he's facing the wall, legs on either side of his thighs, hands on the back of his chair by his shoulders.  
  
John runs his hands up Zayn's thighs and looks up into his eyes.  
  
"I miss you," he says to Zayn, chin wavering slightly.  
  
"I know," Zayn whispers, leaning down to capture his lips with his. He shoves his tongue in his mouth, wanting this to be dirty, _making_ it dirty so that when he feels bad about it afterwards, it'll at least be deserved.  
  
He undoes John's button up, throws it open to expose his chest, to kiss down his neck and collar bones. He can feel John getting harder by the second underneath him, can feel John's hands palming his ass as they grind together slightly. Zayn sits back and lifts up his own shirt and throws it to the side. He leans back in so John can kiss across his chest, suck into his skin and leave marks. He grips the back of his chair and lifts his head.  
  
It's then that he glances into the mirror behind John's desk and sees him, Harry's reflection.  
  
It's like time stops and his body freezes right then and there. Their eyes lock in the mirror and they stare at each other, while John makes obscene sounds against Zayn's chest, teeth on his nipple. He doesn't know Harry can see them, that Zayn didn't close the door all the way.  
  
Finally, after what feels like hours, Harry tears his eyes away from Zayn's and walks back down the hall towards the main area of the restaurant.  
  
Zayn keeps looking at the now empty mirror, wishing he could be anywhere else.


	3. Chapter 3

Zayn's always seen himself as a good kid, a good person. He made sure to help out with his sisters, he always got good grades, and his parents never had any complaints. Even the few times in high school when he got drunk at parties, he always made sure to walk home and sneak in so his parents wouldn't see him or worry that he was on the wrong path. He never hurt anyone, never got a speeding ticket, never purposefully went out of his way to make others feel bad.  
  
That's what he tries to think about, as he walks back to the apartment that night, the ways in which he is a decent person. He thinks of the times he took extra shifts at whatever job he happened to be working, when coworkers needed to go see their kids' plays. He rarely complained, he made people in bad moods laugh if he could, and he only got tattoos he knew his mom wouldn't murder him for. In fact, the only trouble or mischief he ever got in, was with Harry Styles himself, during Santa Barbara weekends, when they stole Pop Rocks from the grocery store and got caught, or when they ran around the pier one night after hours. That's the only time Zayn's ever seen his dad get truly angry with him, when the security guard showed up at their family friend's house, Zayn in tow, crying his eyes out for getting in trouble.  
  
Besides that, he was a good kid. He swears it. He's always done the right thing.  
  
But as he kicks at the pavement as he walks, his thoughts keep getting interrupted by Harry's face in that mirror. He thought of the feeling in his gut, when he saw Harry and could only feel the married man below him, sucking on his chest. He feels disgusted and ashamed. He couldn't read Harry's blank expression when he saw him in the mirror, so he doesn't know exactly what Harry thinks of him. But he has a pretty good guess that it's close to what he's feeling about himself now.  
  
After Harry walked out of the restaurant, Zayn's brain finally shifted into gear and he swiftly got off John's lap and grabbed for his shirt. He mumbled something about having to go, about needing to get home, barely looking at John as he flew out the office door. He's pretty sure he didn't breathe again until he was outside and halfway down the pier, heading towards Grace's.  
  
He'd call his dad right now, just to hear his voice, to let him tell him he's proud, because he can read Zayn's mood and knows when he needs it. But it's too late and he wouldn't want to worry his parents, waking them out of a deep sleep, just to sound bummed out and not give them a tangible reason why. So he does the next best thing: he heads to Grace, hoping she's still up in the cafe, toying with recipes like she's been known to do at this time of night, to feed him or let him cry. Maybe both.  
  
Zayn had just gotten used to having Harry in his life again, the kid who made him want to be great some day. Harry, amazing, gorgeous, sweet Harry, the kid who couldn't be a snob even if he tried. The kid who hugged Zayn when they got drunk on the beach, the kid who sang awful karaoke right in his face to make him laugh, the kid Lou loves too. As he hangs his head, walking faster, he knows for certain that he needs Grace and he needs pie.  
  
When he reaches the cafe, he knows he's in luck, because as he glances through the front window, the lights are still on. He pushes through the open door, the door he's told Grace a thousand times to lock after she closes up, so she doesn't get robbed, and slowly walks to the main counter. He throws himself onto one of the classic red stools and puts his head on the cool counter top.  
  
"Oh no, what's going on here?" he hears Grace say, as she walks out from the kitchen to stand by the coffee maker behind the counter.  
  
Zayn speaks into the white laminate, refusing to look her in the eye. "I had a rough night, Grace. Not a good one at all."  
  
"Oh sunshine," she says soothingly, calling him the name his mom calls him, because Grace is a fucking saint and knows he needs it. "I'm going to make you some coffee and then we'll talk about it, okay?"  
  
"Do I have to?"  
  
Just then, the bell on the door chimes, and Zayn's about to tell the person they're closed, when he hears the sweetest voice he's ever heard.  
  
"Uh, hey Zayn."  
  
Zayn's head flies up to stare at the front door. Harry's standing there, wringing his Harbor apron in his hands, wild hair flying every which way, staring at him with the same blank look on his face as he wore in the mirror earlier. Zayn wonders if Harry will ever make a happy, or adorable, or normal expression ever again, if this new face of Harry's is all his fault.  
  
"Harry. What are you doing here?"  
  
"I just… I figured you might be here. That like, maybe once you left the restaurant eventually, you'd come home. And Sam is with Louis somewhere. So. So I came. I came here," he says quietly, rubbing at the back of his neck.  
  
Zayn can't stop looking at Harry, even when he feels Grace grab his hands on the counter.  
  
"Why don't you and your friend sit at a booth. I'll get you some coffee and pie. How's that sound?"  
  
Zayn turns to her, sees her sweet smiling face, and nods dumbly. He gestures for Harry to follow him to the booth tucked in the corner, the best booth in the house, with the low hanging light above it. Harry walks past Grace and gives a small wave, before settling in across from him.  
  
Now that they're sitting, and alone, neither know what to say. They just keep staring, even as Grace sets a plate with a slice of apple pie between them, and two cups of coffee. She briefly rubs a finger down Zayn's cheek and smiles, before going back into the kitchen, leaving them alone, yet again.  
  
Harry busies himself with putting three packets of sugar in his coffee and blowing on it. Zayn can't take it anymore.  
  
"So… I don't -"  
  
Harry stops him. "Zayn, you really don't have to explain anything to me."  
  
"What?" he says, jaw dropping, like it's all it knows how it do.  
  
"I don't want you to think that I'm like, mad. Mad at you, or mad about what I saw. I just came back to look at the schedule, is all. I didn't mean to see," he says, stirring his coffee.  
  
"But you looked mad."  
  
"I'm not."  
  
"But it looked _so bad_ , Harry. It's really, _really_ bad. You should be yelling at me. Because I'm an asshole," Zayn says forcefully, leaning forward slightly. He needs Harry to be mad at him for this. Someone needs to be angry, to call him on it, to tell him how shitty he's been.  
  
"Do you think you're an asshole?"  
  
"I _know_ I'm an asshole. He's married, Haz. He's married and I know it, and I keep doing it."  
  
"I don't think you're an asshole. And I'm not going to judge you," he says simply, sipping at his coffee.  
  
Zayn shakes his head a few times, refusing to believe that Harry is being nice to him at this moment, is honestly saying he's not judging him. Zayn's a dick, and he knows if the situation were reversed, if this was Harry, or even Lou, in this situation, he'd be yelling up a storm. He'd be furious at his friend for being so stupid.  
  
Harry just stares at him some more, and Zayn can't stop shaking his head at himself.  
  
"Zayn, if you need to hear it, then fine. You shouldn't be doing anything with a married man, with your boss, in your place of employment. It's not right, and it's not fair to anyone involved. But you obviously have your reasons, so I can't tell you what to do beyond that."  
  
"I feel like shit for it, I swear. I know I need to stop."  
  
"So stop."  
  
"I am. I did. I stopped it, after you walked out, I left. I swear," he leans in further, needing Harry to know that he didn't do anything tonight.  
  
Harry just nods at him and gives a small smile. Zayn exhales, feeling relieved that Harry really isn't mad and knows that he stopped and left. If nothing else, at least Harry knows that once Zayn saw his face, saw his eyes in that goddamn mirror, Zayn couldn't do it. He had to go.  
  
Harry picks at the apple pie a bit, so Zayn picks up his fork and does the same. Any pie made by Grace can put a smile on your face, and Zayn's happy to see this pie is no exception. He smiles to himself, just a small one, even though he knows he'll have to deal with the John situation later. He can't just avoid him like he did before. It has to stop, for good, once and for all. Regardless of their mutual attraction, if John won't stop it, Zayn will.  
  
But after they eat for a few minutes, sip their coffee, after Zayn starts to feel a little more settled and comfortable, he sees the opposite happening to Harry. Harry seems tenser now, more reserved. He looks sad, he's frowning. And if there's something Zayn never wants to see again, it's Harry's face looking the way it looks right now.  
  
"Haz, what's wrong? You said you weren't mad."  
  
"I'm not. I swear I'm not, I'm just… It's just like. I don't know."  
  
"Tell me."  
  
"I just… I've never seen that before, you know?"  
  
Zayn hangs his head, ashamed. "I know, I know it looked awful. Right there in the office and everything."  
  
But Harry just shakes his head. "No, I mean… I've never seen two guys. Like that. Before. In real life." He takes a big gulp of his coffee then.  
  
Zayn forgot, again, that Harry never allowed himself to explore what happened between them under the pier when they were thirteen, the feelings he must've felt for another guy, how confusing that must've been. Harry said his dad would kill him if he ever found out. Harry must've squashed the entire thing.  
  
Zayn feels for him then, and vaguely wonders how Harry would feel if he reached for his hand. But he doesn't. They just sit in silence again.  
  
Harry scrapes his fork on the now empty plate. "So like… what it's like?"  
  
"What's what like?"  
  
"Being with a guy, being with someone who's just like you. Same parts and all that," he says, looking down, cheeks red.  
  
"I mean, it's good. I guess. I guess I don't know any different." Harry looks up then, looks Zayn in the eye, a look of wonderment on his face. So Zayn continues, to let him live through him while he can. "After we kissed, after I had my first kiss with another guy, it just felt right. It felt like it's what I was supposed to do, for the rest of my life. So I guess I just always have. Been with just guys, I mean."  
  
"Oh, okay. I see."  
  
"You've never done anything else with a guy before?"  
  
Harry huffs out an uncomfortable laugh at that and says, "Definitely not. No. I haven't."  
  
"Have you thought about it? Have you wanted to?" Zayn asks gently, head cocked to the side.  
  
"I mean, I just knew I never could again. I could never think that way. I dated girls, went out with girls. My parents always have work functions and shit, parties at the house, so I always brought girls. I mean, I love my friends, my friends that are guys. And I know when I drink I want to hug anything that moves, but other than that, just girls. Always girls."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"My dad would freak if he knew I was even having this conversation right now. Like, he would fucking lose his mind," Harry says, suddenly angry. "Your parents always seemed nice, I bet that was nice, growing up. I bet you have a good dad. I bet your dad doesn't hate the person you are. I can fucking see it, when my dad looks at me, when he looks at me like I'm a disappointment. He genuinely doesn't like me, as a person, let alone as his kid."  
  
Harry shakes his head as he looks at the table, realizing he had an outburst. Zayn just stares at him, wanting to make him feel better.  
  
Harry looks at him then, and he looks sad. His eyes look tired. Zayn wants to get up and sit with him on his side of the booth, hold him close, kiss his temple until he feels better. But he doesn't.  
  
Instead, very carefully, but with purpose, he reaches out and takes Harry's hand in his on the table. Harry looks at the motion, watches Zayn touch him, and he tenses. He looks guilty, he looks up and around them, to see if anyone is watching.  
  
Zayn squeezes his hand, tight, and then links their fingers together.  
  
"Is this okay, Haz?" he whispers.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"No one's around, no one can see, okay?"  
  
"Okay."  
  
So they sit like that for a while, across each other in a booth in an empty cafe, holding hands. Zayn rubs his thumb against the back of Harry's hand, squeezes his fingers every so often. And it's as they sit there that Zayn sees Harry deflate, relax, unwind. Harry calms down. His eyes don't look so sad, or tired.  
  
Zayn puts his elbow on the table and holds his head up with his other hand and stares at Harry. He can't look away.  
  
Harry doesn't look away either.

  
  
***

  
Zayn knows what's happening, he can feel it, that night as he lays on the shitty brown couch upstairs. He knows he's moving closer and closer to Harry, getting so close he won't even be able to feel the air between them anymore without feeling Harry's breath against his. He knows Harry knows it too. He also knows that Harry's probably scared out of his fucking mind, at realizing that he's getting close to Zayn, to a guy, to someone he never thought he'd see again.  
  
Zayn wonders what Harry's dad will do if he finds out, if he ever sees them in the same vicinity as each other, if Harry will let his dad see. Because Zayn knows that the next time they're even in the same room together, everyone else will know too. It's going to be so fucking obvious. They're not just friends, they're not just coworkers.  
  
They're magnets.

  
  
***

  
The next day at the restaurant is tense, at best. John keeps trying to catch Zayn's eye, to silently ask what happened last night, to try and gesture for Zayn to follow him to his office. But Zayn ignores it for now, tells himself he'll deal with it after the dinner shift. When he sees Harry, they lock eyes, and they know. It's happening. Harry, as Zayn predicted, looks terrified and bewildered. So when Zayn walks near him in the kitchen as he's passing, he stops and holds onto Harry's forearm, just for a second, and looks at him. Harry settles, he stills. Zayn anchors him, tells him with his eyes that it'll be fine.  
  
So the shift goes fine, Louis sings randomly behind the bar when a good song comes on and people in the restaurant love it. The noise becomes infectious and people start singing along with him. Zayn finds himself moving along with the music every so often. Crazier things have happened, don't get too excited. Harry of course loves it and moves around the restaurant like a goddamn ballroom dancer, moving his hips whenever a song catches him the right way.  
  
Zayn can't help but watch, can't help but laugh along with him whenever Harry looks his way. They both know. They look at each other and smile, like they're the only people in the room, and all Zayn wants to do is go over and grab his face and kiss him. He can't look away.  
  
Louis sees it, he knows. And John sees it, he knows too.  
  
When he finally looks away from Harry, after what seems like years, Zayn sees them both see it, sees both of their faces figure it out.  
  
Zayn doesn't look forward to either conversation.

  
  
***

  
Louis catches him first, because of course he does. Louis Tomlinson waits for no man, he seeks people out like a fucking missile. So it's as all the servers finish up their side work and clean the main dining room late that night, when Louis corners him behind the bar, hands on either side of it, not letting Zayn out from behind it.  
  
"Zayn, what are you doing?"  
  
"What?" Zayn plays dumb, wiping off the bar.  
  
"He's straight, Zayn. Or he's in the closet, or he doesn't know who the fuck he likes, whatever. Doesn't matter. This won't end well for you," he says quietly, so only Zayn can hear.  
  
"It's not like that, Lou. It's just… we just like spending time together."  
  
"He'll never be able to be who you want him to be, not any time soon. You forget that you professing your love for dick in high school isn't always the case for some people." Zayn just stares at him, waiting for Louis to move his arms so he can go back to the kitchen. "Just be careful, Zayn. I'm serious."  
  
"I know, Lou. I know."  
  
Zayn does know, is the thing. He knows Harry won't exactly have the easiest time admitting what's going on between them, won't be waving around a rainbow flag and making out with him in front of his parents, not in the near future. But he can't help it, it's Harry. It's his Harry, the Harry he's been following around and wanting to be like since he was five. He can't help it.  
  
So he walks towards the kitchen, about to help clean up, when John physically reaches out and grabs his arm, pulling him towards his office. Zayn let's him do it, let's himself be pulled because this is the second time tonight he knows he'll have to have an awkward conversation, so he might as well get it over with.  
  
John rounds on him the second they walk into the office, just as he closes the door.  
  
"So that's it then?"  
  
Zayn just looks at him. He doesn't know what to say. If nothing else, maybe John can think he's in control of this, think he's the one stopping it. Zayn isn't cruel, he'll let him have it.  
  
"Seriously, tell me. Are you fucking him?"  
  
"No, John. I am not fucking Harry Styles."  
  
"Don't lie to me. Be honest, did you leave me last night to go to him?" he says, breathing heavy.  
  
"Yes."  
  
John starts to pace back and forth, rubbing his hands down his face. Zayn stands there with his hands on his hips, waiting for John to let him leave, to let up and let it end. If you had asked him a few weeks ago how he'd feel at the end of whatever this is, he'd probably be sad and wonder how he'd survive the rest of the summer being around John and his massive hands, night after night in the restaurant. Now he just wants to leave. He feels like the ceiling is lowering by the second, crushing him.  
  
"So this is it? Really, Zayn? After all this time? After everything?" he says, anger in his voice gone. Now he's just pleading.  
  
"You're married. That's it. You're married and we have to be done. I have to go."  
  
John turns away from him towards the wall, and hangs his head. Zayn knows it's time to leave, so he turns around and walks out of the office for good. He would've liked to have been kinder, to hold his hand one last time, to tell him he's sorry for how long it's gone on. But he can't, because John needs to know it's over. So he leaves.

  
  
***

  
Everyone leaves together out the back door, to walk down the pier and head to Becca's. Everyone seems in high spirits, they all made good money, so it's the perfect night to get shit faced and dance around a fire. Zayn sees Louis run ahead of the group, towards Sam who had just walked towards them all, as they reach the sand.  
  
Zayn hangs back on purpose, walks slower. He feels like shit. His best friend told him to be careful and a guy he cared for was hurting, so all in all, he didn't want to have a drink, or dance, or even fucking smile at the moment.  
  
Harry walks up to him and bumps his arm against his, letting Zayn know he's there.  
  
"I don't feel like drinking tonight, do you?" he asks Zayn quietly, a smile on his face.  
  
"Definitely not."  
  
"Let's go back to your apartment then, yeah?"  
  
Zayn feels his heart quicken, his palms start to sweat. "Yeah Haz, let's go."

  
  
***

  
They walk up the old wooden stairs that lead up to the apartment, Zayn ahead of Harry, very aware that something might happen once they get inside and are alone. They both could feel something happening and now that it's actually, tangibly _about to happen_ , Zayn feels very unprepared.  
  
So he busies himself, won't look at Harry, and instead kicks off his shoes, puts away his apron and jacket. He grabs two beers from the fridge, just for something to hold, and sets one on the counter for Harry. He walks around for a few seconds, surveying the room, wondering what to do, when he hears Harry cough lightly. Zayn finally turns to look at him and sees Harry awkwardly sitting with his beer on the couch, Zayn's _bed_ for all intents and purposes, and Zayn wants nothing more than to sit in his lap and lick his way into his mouth.  
  
"I like it in here."  
  
"Yeah, it's homey, I guess. It's all Lou's, though," Zayn says, scratching at the beer label.  
  
"I thought so."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Zayn can't seem to move from the middle of the room, where he's weirdly standing, looking at Harry sitting on the couch, and he absolutely hates it. He doesn't know what to do, what this all even means.  
  
"I saw you talking to Lou, and then go in to John's office earlier," Harry states simply, no emotion.  
  
"Yeah, Lou was… whatever. And I had to tell John that it was over, for good."  
  
"That's good. It seemed to be bothering you, so that's good."  
  
"I had to. I can't have you mad at me for it," he chuckles lightly, finally making his way over to the couch, sitting next to Harry, both facing forward.  
  
"I told you, I wasn't mad," Harry nudges him. Then he frowns and looks down. "But can I be honest with you? I wasn't mad, really. But I was sad," before he says even quieter, "and jealous."  
  
Zayn whips his head up to look at Harry's profile. "Really?"  
  
"I'm jealous of everyone that gets to be close to you, Zayn," he whispers. "Every time you hug Lou and don't hug me, or you compliment Sam or anyone else, anything. Seriously, anything you do, when not to or for me, makes me fucking jealous."  
  
Harry smiles as he looks at his feet, finally setting his full beer on the table in front of them. Zayn itches to touch him, to grab him, kiss him, something, anything. But he needs to go slow.  
  
So he sets his beer down too, and reaches out to run his fingers down Harry's forearm. Harry sighs, leans into it. Zayn moves closer, so their legs touch, their hips, their shoulders. He keeps touching his arm.  
  
"Haz?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"I'm going to kiss you, okay? Is that okay?"  
  
"Yeah, it's okay," Harry says in a rush, turning his body towards Zayn, fucking finally.  
  
Zayn angles himself to face Harry better, until they're mere inches apart. Zayn reaches up to touch Harry's face, touch his cheek where his dimple usually shows off, as he leans in and presses their lips together. Harry's not breathing, he just sits and doesn't move. Their lips are still, barely even damp, as Zayn eases him into it.  
  
He leans back to look at Harry, to gauge his reaction. Harry looks how Zayn felt when he was thirteen, like all of his different puzzle pieces are finally falling into place, like the world suddenly makes sense. He looks happy. He looks hungry for it.  
  
So Zayn kisses him again, more insistent this time, holding his face with both hands, opening his lips further. Harry follows, opens his mouth, so Zayn runs his tongue along his bottom lip before slipping it in. When their tongues touch, it's like a fucking lightning strike because Zayn knows then that he won't be able to stop whatever this is. He pushes his tongue forward, feels Harry's tongue pressing back, as they breathe together. Harry touches one of Zayn's hands on his cheek, pulling them closer together.  
  
They kiss and kiss, until they're both panting. Zayn's erection is pressing against his zipper and he wants nothing more than to relieve it, but he doesn't know if he can, if he should. He doesn't know how to touch Harry, if Harry wants him to, if this is enough for tonight. But Zayn sees it, he sees Harry's hand move to the front of his own jeans, as he presses a palm against himself, to settle down. Zayn knows this has had the same effect on Harry, so he takes a chance.  
  
He pushes Harry away slightly, so his back hits the back of the couch. He climbs onto his thighs, knees resting on either side of him and looks down into Harry's eyes. He's asking if it's okay, if he should stop. Harry just nods quickly, puts his hands on Zayn's thighs, and watches himself run his palms up and down Zayn's jeans. He seems fascinated, seeing another man in his lap like this.  
  
Zayn goes back in to kiss him, to run his hands along the back of Harry's head, through the curls near his ears. It's like their tongues have minds of their own, moving together, against each other. Zayn takes another chance and shifts slightly, so he can grind down against Harry's lap. The sound Harry makes is so fucking perfect, so infectious, Zayn wants to do it over and over, just to hear that breathy moan out of Harry's mouth again.  
  
" _Fuck_. Fuck, Zayn. Holy fucking shit," he pants into Zayn's mouth, as Zayn moves slowly against him. Harry almost sounds like he's in tears. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Jesus Christ," he practically sobs, as Zayn moves again and again.  
  
"Are you okay?"  
  
"Don't stop that, don't stop what you're doing," Harry pants into his neck, grasping at the back of his shirt. Zayn moves their heads so he can kiss at the sensitive skin by Harry's ear. He licks a stripe up his neck, and bites his earlobe, right as he pulls the hair at the base of his neck, and shifts his hips down, hard.  
  
" _Motherfu_ -" Harry practically shouts as he comes in his pants, shudders underneath Zayn's weight, holding the hem of Zayn's shirt like a lifeline, shudders and shudders.  
  
Zayn just breathes into his ear, runs his hands through his hair, as he comes down and back to himself. Harry leans his face against Zayn's chest, his breathing still erratic. Zayn is about to climb off him when he feels Harry's arms link around his torso, holding him still, holding him tight.  
  
"You okay, Haz?"  
  
"Yeah, yeah I'm good. Just give me a minute, I'm sorry," his voice comes out rough, against the fabric of Zayn's shirt.  
  
"It's okay. You're good."  
  
"You're fucking amazing. I'm so fucking glad I met you all over again, Zayn. I mean it. I'm so glad we're here," he says into his shirt.  
  
Zayn smiles into his hair, stays still, wills his erection to go away, to let this be for Harry. He wants Harry to have it, to savor it, accept it, whatever he has to do. He keeps running his hands over his scalp. He kisses his temple.  
  
Harry finally leans back to look up at Zayn. He seems out of it, but content. Zayn can tell he's about to say something about Zayn getting off, about wondering how Zayn is, he can see it in his eyes, in the way he's looking at Zayn's jeans. But he just shushes him and climbs off to sit back next to him on the couch.  
  
"You want to get cleaned up and go have pie with me?"  
  
"But what about -"  
  
"I'm good, Haz. I can handle myself later. I'm just really hungry for pie," he says smiling next to Harry, telling him with his eyes that he's all good.  
  
Harry seems relieved, to not have to go further, to not have to reciprocate right this minute. So as he walks to the bathroom, he gives Zayn a grateful smile. Zayn smiles back and wonders, as he hears the bathroom door close, if the first time Harry came in the presence of another guy, with another guy to help, if it was good and worth it.  
  
It's as they're eating pie in the same booth downstairs, after getting Grace to serve them like the night-owl saint she is, as Harry holds his hand on the table, that Zayn realizes that yeah, Harry seems happy.  
  
So he's happy too.

  
  
***

  
For the next three weeks, they make out every place possible. Zayn feels like a teenager again, when all he ever did was kiss, as him and Harry kiss on the couch, in his truck, tucked away in rooms at Becca's after work, down the beach while everyone gets drunk around the fire.

They kiss until Zayn feels like his face is about to fall off. He has to shave because he's afraid Harry's skin can't take the constant friction anymore. His face looks like a ripe peach, which just makes Zayn want to kiss him more, so the stubble on his chin had to go.  
  
They don't kiss at the restaurant, for obvious reasons, but they both seem to like the short breaks from the constant contact while they work and earn money. They smile though, and walk close together when they can, not enough that anyone would notice with a passing glance, but enough that Louis keeps giving Zayn knowing looks. John ignores the both of them completely, which is better than firing them, so neither mention it or discuss it at all.  
  
They don't do anything besides kiss, not after that first night on the couch. Harry seems slightly relieved, to go slow and move at a pace that isn't overwhelming for him. They both know Harry's not a virgin, that he's had sex with numerous girls, but clearly this is new for him. And after years of believing it was wrong, after years of hearing his dad shit all over the lifestyle Harry knows he wants, he needs it like this.

So they make out and tug each others' hair, and Zayn doesn't push it. Sure, every night in the shower, Zayn furiously fists himself to the thought of Harry's mouth on his cock, on his knees for him, spread out on a bed for him. For the moment, he wouldn't have it any other way.

  
  
***

  
It's Zayn's day off and instead of spending it with Harry like he wants, he agrees to help Grace in the cafe. She normally doesn't need much help because she can handle it with just herself or one of the other old ladies who work there, but every once and a while, she asks Louis or Zayn to run the counter while she mans the tables. Zayn doesn't mind, he can always use more tips, and the people who come to Grace's definitely aren't high maintenance. In fact, some of Zayn's best stories to take home come from the old men who sit at the counter and tell him about the "old days" and the crazy shit they used to do with their sweethearts.  
  
Zayn's pouring coffee for Fred, the guy who lives a block over, laughing at his description of something he saw on the news the night before, when the door chimes and in walk the Styles family.  
  
Zayn isn't sure what to do, seeing Mr. and Mrs. Styles after so many years, in their classic clothes, smooth hair, sunglasses perched on their heads. They walk towards the back booth, to Zayn and Harry's booth, with Gemma, Harry, and Sam trailing behind them. He catches Harry's eye and Harry looks absolutely wrecked. He's nervous, sweating slightly, and just completely in over his head.  
  
He hears Grace greet them and give them menus, where they graciously say thank you and smile at her. Never let it be said the Styles family are rude. Sure, Harry's dad is a bigot and a homophobe, but he's polite as all hell. Harry looks up at him again and looks like he's about to cry. He just shakes his head, silently telling Zayn not to come over, not to say hi.  
  
Zayn feels sick. So he tells Grace he'll be back, and he runs to the back kitchen to catch his breath. Harry's either ashamed of him, or nervous he'll say something wrong, or afraid of what his dad will do. Regardless, Zayn feels like shit and hates the entire thing. This can't have been Harry's idea, to come here in the first place. When he walks back out, he seems them drinking their iced tea and laughing together. Harry looks pained.  
  
Grace keeps giving him weird looks as he paces behind the counter, randomly filling coffee cups of people who don't even need it, wiping down the counter so many times, he's about to make a dent in it. Harry's family get their food, they eat, it seems like a pleasant enough lunch. So Zayn keeps pacing, wondering why they even came here, what he should do if Harry catches his eye again.  
  
When they finally get up to leave and make their way towards the door, it happens. Harry's dad sees him standing behind the counter and it dawns on him, that he knows Zayn's face. He walks right up to him.  
  
"You're a Malik!"  
  
"Uh yeah, hi Mr. Styles, how are you?"  
  
"Anne, look! It's the Malik boy! How are you? Zayn, right?"  
  
"Yeah, it's Zayn. Uh, I'm good. Finishing up school next year, just working here for the summer."  
  
"Oh that's just great. What a sweet cafe to work in," he says, still smiling. "Well you remember Anne, my wife. And Gemma and Harry," he gestures around to his family. "And this is Sam, Harry's girlfriend."  
  
Zayn can't let the smile from his face slip off or falter, so he just keeps it plastered where it is, unmoving. He moves his head around to nod at everyone, before finally landing on Harry and Sam, standing together, holding hands. He can see Harry's chin beginning to shake, as Sam looks at her shoes.  
  
"Of course, I remember you all. Hello again," he says, still nodding and smiling like a maniac.  
  
"Well maybe we'll come back again some time soon, it's lovely here," Anne chimes in as they make their way out the door. "Tell your parents we say hello, Zayn!"  
  
They walk out the door, one by one, and Harry nudges Sam to go ahead of him. He's about to push the door and follow them, when he turns to look at Zayn, a stricken look on his face, begging Zayn to understand.  
  
But Zayn doesn't understand, not this. He understands Harry not being ready to be out, to express himself with Zayn in front of people. He gets that, he's let Harry take his time figuring it out. But he doesn't understand the fact that Harry didn't mention to his family that he worked with Zayn, that Zayn was his friend, was someone he valued and wanted to be around. His family didn't know who Zayn was, didn't have a clue why he was in town, or the fact that he was doing well in life. Harry never told them a thing.  
  
He also never told Zayn that Sam was his "girlfriend," or whatever the fuck she is. The fact of the matter is, Harry's dad thinks he has a girlfriend. And when they go out with his family, Harry holds her hand and probably kisses her, touches her back, runs his hands through her hair, acts like her boyfriend. Zayn feels sick again.  
  
So when he looks back at Harry, looks him right in the eye, he says it all with a look.  
  
It says _fuck you, Harry Styles_.

Harry looks away, eyes wet, and walks out the door.


	4. Chapter 4

People change as they grow up. They evolve, become smarter, hone their critical thinking skills. That's all fine and good, it's expected. But at the same time, people also _never_ change. Because at your core, once you are who you are, that's it. You're done. Your soul is your soul and there's no changing it. Zayn's father told him that once, when someone called Zayn a faggot in a Target, that some people are who they are, and no matter how much you yell at them until you're blue in the face, sometimes there's just no use.  
  
Zayn knows this for himself because he's known Harry Styles since he was a little kid. He's known Harry, has seen him at his best and at his worst, like after the Pop Rocks incident, after they got caught late one night on the pier. It doesn't matter that they went years without seeing each other, because at his core, Harry has always been, and will always be, Harry.

Zayn's father also gave him another piece of important advice: in life, you need to listen to what people say, truly listen, to what people tell you. Because you may try to read body language, or infer on your own what people think or mean, and that's fine, to an extent. But the most important thing you can do when interacting with another human being, is to listen. If someone tells you they're allergic to shellfish, listen. Don't feed them shrimp when they come over for dinner. If someone tells you they're afraid of sharks, and then weeks later hesitantly agree to go swimming in the ocean with you, remember what they said the first time. They were being honest with you, telling you the truth. That's what Yaser told him: when in doubt, don't read into what isn't there. _Hear people._  
  
So if a man tells you he can't be who he is, if he explicitly explains to you that he's afraid of his parents, or that it's always been _just girls, only girls,_ listen to him. Because he's being honest and he's trying to tell you something important.  
  
Zayn can't believe he ever let himself forget.

  
  
***

  
Grace is probably one of the smartest people Zayn's ever met. She knew not to talk to Harry about meeting him in the cafe that one night when Zayn almost cried on her shoulder, not in front of his family, and she knew by the look on Zayn's face after Harry and the Styles left that maybe it was time for him to be off for the day. He is shaking in anger, hands in fists, willing himself not to get so angry that he does something as stupid and pathetic as _cry_. So she squeezes his shoulders and pushes him right out the front door, bell ringing behind him as he hits the sidewalk.  
  
He rips off the stupid maroon apron he only wears in the cafe and stomps up the stairs to the apartment. He stomps through the door, stomps to the couch, attempts to sit, but finds he is too heated, too antsy. So he stomps down the hall and barges into Lou's room to give him an ear full.  
  
He puts his foot on Louis's bed and shakes it as hard he can.  
  
"What the fuck are you doing? I'm off today and I planned to spend it in this bed, sleeping like a dead person, so if you don't mind," Louis huffs out from under his comforter, face in the mattress.  
  
"I need to talk."  
  
"Later, Zayn."  
  
"No, now. We have to talk. You need to hear this too."  
  
"Oh fuck me," he exhales, rolling over to stare at Zayn at the edge of his bed. "Go on, then. Get in," as he sits up.  
  
Zayn doesn't have to think twice, he crawls up to settle next to Louis, who is almost certainly naked under the blankets. Zayn leans against the headboard with him, arms folded, still heated. If he's mad, he's almost positive Louis is going to be mad too.  
  
"I have to tell you something. And I'm really pissed about it."  
  
"Okay, what?"  
  
"Harry and his family came into the cafe just now. They had lunch. Sam was with them, and when Harry's dad recognized me, he introduced Sam as Harry's girlfriend. They were holding hands and standing all close and everything," he says, pouting.  
  
"Oh."  
  
"You didn't know either? That they're dating? Or like, pretending to date?"  
  
"No, I didn't know that," he says, closing his eyes, resting his head back against the pillows again.  
  
"Aren't you mad? I'm fucking furious, Lou. We were… together, or about to be together, or figuring it out. And he's with fucking _Sam?_ Come the fuck on," he says shaking his head.  
  
"I think you should talk to Harry about it, to be honest."  
  
"Are you serious right now? Are you fucking with me? Why aren't you mad? Tell me," Zayn says, elbowing Louis in the side.  
  
"Zayn, clearly Harry has some shit to figure out with his family. And Sam's his best friend. Maybe she's giving him an out, helping him with his shitty parents, until he can do what he really wants to do, which is be with you."  
  
Zayn sits in silence, knowing that Louis is absolutely right. He knew it the second he saw Sam holding Harry's hand, holding it to anchor him, just like Zayn does when he needs it. Harry said he always dated girls for his dad. Sam is clearly helping him, because she's a good friend and Harry needs her.  
  
It still doesn't change the fact that Harry never told him, never explained their situation. He never told Zayn how he felt or why he had to hide it. And he never even told his family that Zayn was here this summer, was at the restaurant, was someone, anyone, to him. And regardless of why he did it, it fucking hurts. He also vaguely thinks of his dad's old advice, aware that Harry told Zayn how fucked up his family situation is, how his dad makes him feel, how so _not ready_ he is for this whole thing. Zayn rubs at his temples.  
  
Just then they hear the front door bang open, hitting against the wall by the table in the kitchen. They look at each other, knowing this is the end. They're about to be murdered, or robbed, or stabbed. They had a good run.  
  
"Zayn, you fucking dick. Are you here?"  
  
Zayn looks at Louis, confused. It's Sam.  
  
"Sam?" Zayn yells out through the bedroom door.  
  
She walks in, face red, panting. "You are a fucking jackass. Do you know that? Do you know how much of a fucker you are?"  
  
Louis and Zayn both just stare at her. Sam's always been so sweet, never raised her voice, hardly ever cursed about anything, let alone directly at someone. They've never heard this tone from her before, the nice girl who goes to UCLA and wants to be a vet.  
  
"I just -"  
  
"No, fuck that. You don't get to talk to me right now. I'm not the one who needs to hear it. Do you know where Harry is right now? Do you?" Zayn wants to answer, he opens his mouth to, but she cuts him off again. "He's in the pool house, crying his eyes out, thinking you hate him. And that makes me very angry, Zayn. Harry looks like a kicked puppy when he cries and I hate it."  
  
Louis starts to sit up then, to reach a hand out to try and steady Sam, to help her calm down. But she turns and gives him a fierce look, so he stops and settles back down, cheeks pink.  
  
"Harry's dad is an asshole, Zayn. He's mean and he makes Harry feel about this big," she says, holding up her thumb and finger, showing him the inch of space between them. "So he asked me a long time ago to help him out, to get his dad to shut the fuck about him never having a steady girlfriend. He's my best fucking friend, okay? So if we have to hold hands and kiss a few times in front of his parents, big fucking deal. And I'll keep doing it until he asks me to stop, until he can be who he is. But you have to know, he wants to be with _you_ , you asshole. And maybe he didn't tell you any of it because he feels shitty enough over it."  
  
She finally realizes how much she's been yelling, so she steadies herself, puts her hands on her slim hips and takes a breath. Zayn and Louis keep staring at her, not knowing if they're allowed to speak yet. So she gets a little quieter, less threatening.  
  
"Gemma went to her boyfriend's place. And Harry's parents went to LA for the night. They won't be back until noon tomorrow. So go, go talk to him. Because if I recall, you did something not very becoming, something that made Harry sad and upset, and he still came looking for you. Because you needed him," she finishes, giving him an intense stare, not blinking.  
  
Louis shakes his head, looking to Zayn. "What does that mean? What did you do?"  
  
"Nothing," he says, giving him a quick glance. "I'll tell you later."  
  
Sam's absolutely right, he needs to go see Harry. They need to talk. And Harry did come find him after he saw him fucking their boss in the office, he went out of his way even though it hurt him, to approach Zayn and let him know it's okay. Zayn really is a dick.  
  
"Thank you, Sam. Seriously," he says, grabbing for one of Lou's jackets.  
  
"Just go. He needs you to tell him he's not a terrible person. And I'll stay here tonight so you can be alone," she says, finally completely calm and collected, like the Sam they've come to know and love.  
  
"Really?" Lou says, perking up, smiling.  
  
Zayn is walking out of the bedroom door when he sees Sam roll her eyes and give Louis a quick, "Oh _please_ ," before he flies through the apartment and down the steps as fast as he can.

  
  
***

  
Zayn gets to Harry's beach house in record time. It's farther up the beach, the opposite way from Becca's, sitting pristine with it's massive wrap around porch overlooking the pool. All of the windows are closed up, which really does mean Harry's family must all be gone for the night. He works his way around to the side of the house to the pool house Harry and Zayn used to play in. They used to build sleep forts in the sitting area, right by the TV so they could sit under the blankets and watch movies all night whenever Zayn's mom let him stay over.  
  
The sun is starting to set, starting to reflect against the clear pool water, sending flecks of light at the windows of the pool house, the windows Harry's behind at this very moment. Zayn makes his way around the edge of the pool and finally peaks his head in through the open doors, through the cream curtains blowing in the wind.  
  
It looks exactly the same as he remembers, one large room with a bed tucked in the corner farthest from the door, a white canopy flowing around it. The couch is the same, the TV now a fancy flat screen, with the huge speakers on either side of it that used to blast "The Lion King" over and over again during Zayn's favorite Santa Barbara weekends.  
  
He steps further inside, wondering if Harry is in here, or maybe in the main house. Maybe after Sam left him, Harry left entirely. Zayn spins in a circle, looking around, when he finally hears the water running in the small bathroom. Harry steps out of it in just a pair of small black briefs, hair a mess, eyes red and puffy, face empty of emotion. He looks exhausted.  
  
Harry looks up from the floor, as he walks towards the bed, and stops in his tracks when he sees Zayn standing there.  
  
"Hey Haz."  
  
"What are you doing here?"  
  
"I wanted to see you. I wanted to come talk," he says, slowly walking towards him.  
  
"But you looked so mad. You looked furious. Your face did that thing it used to do when I made you do something you didn't want to do," he says sniffling, wiping his nose on the back of his hand.  
  
"No, that's just my face sometimes. It does shit without consulting me first. I'm not mad."  
  
Harry just stares at him.  
  
So Zayn continues. "I mean, I'm not mad anymore. I was mad earlier, but I talked to Sam. She kind of talked _at_ me, actually," he says, with a small laugh.  
  
"What did she say? Why are you here?"  
  
Zayn finally meets Harry where he stands and grabs his hands, pulling him close. He smells like soap and chlorine. Zayn runs his finger down Harry's cheek, just looking at him. He smooths his eyebrow with his thumb, and smiles. Then he pulls Harry to sit with him on the couch they used to sit on all the time as kids. Harry melts into him, let's himself mold to Zayn's side as Zayn puts his arm around him. Harry can't stop sniffling.  
  
"It's okay, Haz. Stop crying."  
  
They sit for a few minutes, listening to the pool water hitting the edges, the wind blowing through the various open windows and doors, cream curtains blowing.  
  
"Zayn, I want you to know that I didn't mean for you to see all of that today. I was going to tell you about what Sam and I do, around my family, I swear. You weren't supposed to just see it like that, in your face. I'm really sorry," he says, chin shaking against Zayn's arm. "I didn't know we were going to Grace's, I swear. I'm sorry."  
  
"I know. I knew it the second you walked in the door that you were sorry. I know."  
  
"You just have to understand, the day I told my dad that my good friend Sam suddenly liked me and became my girlfriend, shit got easier. He didn't make me meet his clients' daughters anymore. Every party, every stupid thing he forced me to go to, I could take Sam, my best friend. She said she didn't mind, that it was to help me out, so we just kept doing it."  
  
"Sam's a good friend."  
  
"She's the best. So we hold hands around my dad and laugh like we normally do, tell each other jokes, and my dad leaves me alone, you know?"  
  
Zayn tugs him closer, runs his fingers along Harry's arm. And he gets it, he really does. He never had to put on a show for his family, for anyone, and it must suck. Harry is clearly under pressure he'll never understand, not fully. But he doesn't understand all of it.  
  
"Why didn't you tell them about me? Was it a secret, that Zayn Malik worked at the restaurant with you? I could be your friend, Haz. I always thought beyond all of it, whatever this is, at the end of the day, I'm at least your friend," he says quietly, looking towards the windows.  
  
Harry sits up so he can look at Zayn's face.  
  
"Zayn, my dad ruins everything. I mean it. _Everything_. If he knew that his punishment of working at the restaurant, the punishment for wrecking my car, was actually fun? If he knew I made a group of friends and was happy, that I was good at serving and actually enjoyed my time there? Fuck, if he knew I saw you again and fell back into this routine with you? He'd take it away, Zayn. He'd ruin it. I can't let him ruin you, or take anything away again, I can't," he finishes fiercely, grabbing Zayn's hand. "Don't you ever just want to keep some things close? Keep it for yourself for a while?"  
  
Zayn looks at him then, in the eye, with determination written all over his face. Because he does know. He keeps a lot close. A lot. He can't look away from Harry's sweet face, the face of the boy who only wants to be accepted. Zayn's never been more angry in his life. Harry's dad can go fuck himself.  
  
"Fuck him," he says angrily.  
  
"Fuck him," Harry looks back, face insistent.  
  
Zayn seizes forward and kisses Harry with everything he has. He puts every emotion he has into it, the protection he feels, the affection, the want. Harry makes a small noise as he opens his mouth to him, as their tongues touch. He grabs Zayn's face in both hands and doesn't let go.  
  
This time, Harry climbs into Zayn's lap and grinds his hips down. Zayn groans up into the kiss, grabbing Harry's hips tightly, nails digging into the bare flesh there.  
  
"I can't hold your hand, Zayn. Not yet. Not outside, or in a restaurant," Harry pants as he moves his cock against Zayn's jeans, trying to get more friction. "This is all I have for now, this is it."  
  
"I know," Zayn huffs out, grabbing his hips tighter, as he kisses along Harry's neck.  
  
"But you have to know this, okay? You have to know that I want you. I've wanted you since I was thirteen and didn't know any better. I want you so bad," Harry practically cries, as Zayn runs his hand over his briefs, briefly squeezing his cock through them.  
  
"I want you too."  
  
Zayn pushes against Harry's tattooed chest, forces him to stand up. Zayn stands with him and takes off his shirt. Harry stares at his chest, transfixed. He sees Zayn's tattoos, the muscle of his chest, his stomach. His eyes linger over his arms, the sleeve he's started. He reaches out to run his hand down his stomach, as Zayn undoes his jeans and kicks them off so he's standing in just his briefs. He takes Harry's hand and leads them over to the bed in the corner. The sun is almost set now, the lights of the pool house completely off, as they're slowly plunged into darkness, only the pool lights flickering in through the curtains.  
  
Zayn lays Harry down so he can crawl up his body, resting his chest against his, as he grabs his chin to kiss him again. Harry opens his mouth right up again and grabs at Zayn's hair.  
  
Zayn slots their legs together so their cocks can rub together, only separated by fabric now. Harry can't stop moving, he's squirming, and Zayn knows he needs it, needs the release, needs Zayn.  
  
Zayn leans up on his elbows to look down at Harry below him, before slowly moving down his body until he's resting between his open legs. Harry looks down at him and is hyperventilating, he's breathing so hard.  
  
"You want me to?"  
  
"Yeah, yeah I want you to," Harry says on a quick exhale.  
  
Zayn reaches for his briefs and slowly pulls them down and off, until Harry's cock is released and laying hard and wet against his stomach. Harry sounds like his lungs are about to burst out of his chest, he's so gone.  
  
"Fuck, Haz. Look at you," he says in a whisper, staring at Harry's gorgeous dick, as he runs his hands up and down his thighs. It's definitely on the bigger side, bigger than many of the others Zayn's seen before, and he has a feeling he'll never get tired of wrapping a hand around it.  
  
"Fuck," Harry huffs out, again on an exhale. "Holy shit, I'm going to come the second you touch me, I fucking swear."  
  
Zayn smiles into Harry's right thigh, as he continues running his fingers along his skin lightly.  
  
"I love how much you talk when you're like this," Zayn says, still smiling into the thick muscle of his leg. "You say what you're thinking. You get loud."  
  
"Yeah?" Harry smiles back, squirming again.  
  
"You know what else I love?" Zayn whispers as he moves closer to his groin. "This skin right here," as he leans down and gently bites at the place where Harry's leg meets his hip, the sensitive skin right by the sharp V line of muscle. Harry throws his head back at that, his hips jumping slightly, as Zayn smooths over the bitten skin with his tongue. He can't tease him anymore, he has to let up.  
  
So he finally reaches for Harry's cock and gets a hand around it, pumping it a few times, to get the precome on his fingers so he can work him better. Harry just huffs out various _fuck_ s and _holy shit_ s, and Zayn can't stop himself from smiling. He fucking loves seeing Harry like this. Sam might get to hold his hand around his prick of a father, might get to attend bullshit parties and see Harry in that world. But she's never seen this and she never will. Zayn's the first guy who ever has and he feels like he won the goddamn lottery.  
  
He leans down and takes Harry into his mouth, sucking at the head for a few seconds, running his tongue on the underside, flicking it against the slit. Zayn's not sure he's ever tasted anything so right before. He groans as he works him further into his mouth, as Harry cries out above him. Harry's hands are in Zayn's hair and he's pulling so perfectly, so tenderly, Zayn almost stops so he can watch Harry's face as he comes apart. He doesn't though, he can't stop. His own cock is straining his briefs, but he can't stop yet.  
  
" _Fuck_ , fuck Zayn. I can't, I wanna -" Harry says, speaking gibberish, making zero sense. "I'm gonna come, I'm gonna -"  
  
So Zayn pushes his face down farther, pulling Harry into him deeper, relaxing his throat as much as he can. Harry's big, his jaw is starting to ache, but he can't stop. He grabs Harry's balls in one hand, just as he moans deep in his throat, as Harry hits the back of it. Harry's body is moving of it's own accord, he can't stop himself from bucking up, from hitting the back of Zayn's throat again and again. Zayn takes it, and eventually relaxes enough for him to fully swallow around Harry's cock. He swallows once, hard, like he'd swallow a tough pill, as Harry pulls at his hair.  
  
Harry yells out one final time, his legs tense and his feet curl, as he releases down Zayn's throat. He shudders, pulling Zayn's hair hard now, as he coats his throat in come. Zayn takes it all, he swallows everything. He gently sucks a few more times, makes sure Harry's spent, and then eases him out of his mouth, as Harry honestly and literally collapses under him. It's like he's boneless, made of jelly. He can't even move.  
  
Zayn doesn't have the strength he had last time, to get Harry off without finishing himself. So he hurriedly pushes himself up on his knees and shoves his briefs down to his thighs, and gets a hand around himself. He throws his head back, finally able to fuck his fist. He can taste Harry in his mouth and he needs to come so badly, he feels like his entire body is about to explode. But then he snaps his head down, as he feels Harry swatting his hand away, grabbing Zayn's cock.  
  
"I wanna do it. Let me do it," Harry says, voice practically gone. "I wanna see you come, Zayn. Come on me."  
  
Zayn knows then that he'd do fucking anything for Harry Styles, if he asked while his hand was around Zayn's dick. He knows it, he accepts it, and he's already moved on. He leans down on his hands now, on either side of Harry's chest, as Harry pumps him, whispering how good he looks.  
  
"Come, Zayn. Come on," he says forcefully.  
  
So Zayn does. He comes so hard, he's afraid he cracked a rib. He groans as he coats Harry's hand, his chest, his stomach in come. It feels like hours before he finally sits back up on his knees, breathing through his mouth. And then it's like he's the one suddenly made of jelly, like he's boneless, as he falls next to Harry on the bed. He can't open his eyes and all he sees behind his eyelids are stars. If he weren't laying down, anchored with Harry, he'd probably fall over.  
  
He feels Harry get off the bed and go into the bathroom. He opens his eyes as Harry is walking back towards him, wiping at his chest with a wet towel. He leans down and wipes Zayn's stomach.  
  
Once he settles back in bed, they lay there for a few minutes, staring at the ceiling.  
  
"Just so you know, that's the best fucking time I have ever had," Harry says, with a small laugh.  
  
"Fuck, me too, Haz."  
  
"If anyone ever asks, the hottest thing I have ever seen, or probably will ever see, in my entire life, is you with my dick in your mouth. And I mean it," he says, grabbing Zayn's hand, squeezing tightly. Zayn laughs at that, and turns to him now, props himself on his elbow so he can stare.  
  
"You're gorgeous, you know. In case I've never said it," Zayn whispers. Harry still has his eyes closed, but he smiles.  
  
"You're staying, right? You're not leaving?"  
  
"I'm not leaving. I'm here," he says, leaning down to press a kiss into Harry's neck.  
  
Harry falls asleep not long after, Zayn curled around his slender frame, in the open pool house, wind blowing the curtains, waves crashing against the beach. Zayn doesn't think he's  ever felt so content in all his life, and he's pretty sure this is the best fucking summer he's ever had.  
  
Zayn smiles into Harry's shoulder, realizing that Harry told him the truth, told him he can't be out about anything yet, but that he wants this, wants Zayn. He was honest and told Zayn the truth, because it's important. Zayn listened. He's listening.

He wants to preserve this and bottle it, so he can take it home and put it on his shelf for safe keeping.  
  
It's only the end of June, but it feels a lot like the Fourth of July.

  
  
***

  
The earthquake that wakes Zayn is one of the worst he's ever felt. He's lived in California his entire life, has gotten quite comfortable there, figures he'll live in the general vicinity of Bakersfield for the rest of his life, so he's not surprised by the earthquake. He's just pissed it's happening when he's asleep next to Harry. He opens his eyes to figure out how bad it is, when he realizes it's not an earthquake at all, it's just Sam, shaking him like a fucking rag doll.  
  
"The fuck are you doing?" he says groggily, as Sam continues to shove at his shoulders. He feels Harry sitting up besides him.  
  
"You have to go right now, Zayn. Harry, your parents are literally pulling into the driveway as we speak. We all overslept," she says hysterically.  
  
You would have thought a starter pistol went off, alerting the start of a horse race. Sam flies away from the bed to throw her shirt off, just as Harry pushes Zayn out of the bed onto the floor. Zayn scurries around to find his clothes, grabbing at anything he can find, a shoe that may or may not be his, throwing on a pair of briefs. Just then he feels Sam kick his shin before she hops into the bed, moving the blanket to cover herself. He hisses at the pain, but realizes she tried kicking him under the bed. So he falls to his stomach and moves to get underneath it as fast he can.  
  
It's then that he hears Harry's dad yell into the pool house.  
  
"Harry, we're home!"  
  
Zayn has a face full of carpet, holding his jeans, as he hears Sam move around under the covers, whispering to Harry, just as he sees a pair of feet walk towards one of the open pool house doors.  
  
"Yeah, yeah okay. We're up," Harry says, with a fake yawn.  
  
"Are you both decent?" Des says, walking into the room.  
  
"Dad, you know we hate it when you just walk in. We're not dressed," Harry says with a sigh.  
  
"Sorry, sorry. Eyes are closed. Just wanted to say good morning. Do you have a shift today at the restaurant? You can't be late," he warns.  
  
"Not until later. And I won't be late, so," Harry finishes, clearly telling his dad to leave.  
  
"Be good, kids. I'm off to call Gemma. She should be back soon," he calls out, as he walks out the door and back around the pool.  
  
Zayn lets out the breath he was holding, right as Harry leans over and peaks down to see him. If the situation weren't so frantic, he probably would savor this more, the sight of Harry's big green eyes and floppy hair hanging in front of him, a smile on his face. Zayn reaches out a finger and pokes him in the dimple, before slowly moving across the floor under the bed.  
  
When he stands, he hurries to put on his clothes. Sam stays under the blankets, hiding her face, as Harry rushes to his side, only wearing a pair of pajama pants. He gives Zayn a hesitant look and grabs his hand.  
  
"I'm sorry about that."  
  
"It's okay, Haz. I get it," Zayn whispers back, before kissing him.  
  
"I'll see you later though, right?" Harry says between kisses, a word for every touch of their lips.  
  
Zayn can't stop kissing him back, can't separate yet. "Yeah, I'll see you." Kiss. "I'm gonna sneak out the back door and go down the beach." Kiss.  
  
Harry grabs his face, kisses him over and over, barely touching their tongues. Zayn pinches his side, laughing as Harry finally lets him go. Harry gives him a swift smack on the ass as Zayn hurries away from him, as Zayn gives him an incredulous look in return.  
  
"Oh come on, just go already!" Sam cries out from the bed, still buried beneath the comforter.  
  
Zayn hears Harry laughing as he rushes down the back stairs towards the beach, holding his shoes.

  
  
***

  
When he gets back to the apartment, Louis is busy in the kitchen, heating up the sandwiches Grace made them the day before. Honestly, if they didn't have Grace to feed them, they'd probably survive solely on spare fries from The Harbor, or booze, or whatever they happen to find in the kitchen when they're high as fuck. Thank god for Grace.  
  
"Thank _god_ for Grace, am I right?" Louis says, setting a plate in front of Zayn as he settles at the table.  
  
"Amen."  
  
"Sam ran out of here in quite the rush, all long legs and messy hair, so I figured you'd be back about now," Louis says, smiling, biting into his sandwich.  
  
"Yeah, definitely almost got caught in Harry's bed when his dad walked in. Sam actually kicked my ass to get under it," Zayn chuckles.  
  
Louis gives him a pointed look as he chews.  
  
"And you're okay with all that? The sneaking around shit? You've never had to do it before, Z. That's kind of a shitty step backwards, for a progressive fellow like yourself."  
  
"It's Harry, Lou," he says, putting down his food and staring back at him. "If this is how it has to be for right now, then it is what it is."  
  
Louis gives an understanding nod, as they continue to eat. Suddenly Zayn's face breaks into a smile.  
  
"So how was _your_ night, Lou? Anything exciting you'd like to share with the class?"  
  
Louis stands and grabs their plates to put them in the sink, his cheeks reddening, but he doesn't say anything. He smiles as he cleans up the kitchen. Zayn doesn't know what to do with himself, because normally Louis Tomlinson is chomping at the bit to tell Zayn about getting laid, telling him the dirty details, making him look at the scratches up and down his back. So this version of him, this Shy Louis is definitely new.  
  
"So?" he pushes again.  
  
"So what? Sam stayed the night, and it was… it was really nice," Louis says smiling, leaning against the counter.  
  
"Just nice?"  
  
"Yes, Zayn. It was fucking great. But it's Sam, you know? I can't do that to her, tell you the details," as he looks down at his bare feet. "Don't you ever just like, want to keep some shit for yourself?"  
  
Zayn nods his head because he gets it. He understands. He keeps a lot close. A lot. He thinks of Harry then, of what Harry said to him just the night before, and Zayn gets it now more than ever. He gives Louis a smile.  
  
He knows now. Harry's not hiding, not really. He's just keeping his heart, his feelings, close to his chest, away from his dad, just like Zayn keeps his thoughts close, like how Louis wants to keep Sam close.  
  
Maybe you keep the things that matter most the closest of all.

  
  
***

  
That night in the restaurant, it seems like everyone else knows now too. It's not just John and Louis giving Zayn and Harry knowing looks, it's the entire staff. He catches Michelle smiling at them, as they huddle around the computer, putting in their tables' orders, laughing together. He sees Shane in the kitchen give Harry a fist bump, as Harry's cheeks turn red.  
  
It's funny then, that after the sneaking around and the hiding they have to do for Harry's dad's sake, that everyone on the fucking planet seems to know that Zayn and Harry are seriously falling for each other.  
  
Zayn tells Harry that after the shift, when they lay in the bed of Zayn's truck at the end of the deserted pier, looking at the sky, listening to the waves.  
  
"It's not about hiding how we feel, Zayn. I'm not that good of an actor. I could never keep it together during Two Truths and a Lie. I can't keep my feelings off my face," Harry states simply, staring up while Zayn stares at him. "I just can't hold your hand yet. I can't be blatant yet. My dad can't know, he just can't."  
  
"I get that."  
  
"But we know how we feel, and if everyone else besides my family sees it, or catches on, whatever, you know?"

Zayn just lays there, looking up, deep in his thoughts. Harry pulls him out of it again.

"This has been the best summer, hasn't it? I love working here with you guys. I've never had a job like this before, a job that wasn't in my dad's office or something. I like how it all works, a restaurant. I think I'd like to own one some day, one of my own, you know?"

Zayn grabs Harry's hand then, and holds on tight. He uses his fingers to tell Harry that this summer has been amazing for him too. And he'd let Harry change the subject, to talk more about work, but he can't let it go yet.  
  
"When do you think we can tell your family?"  
  
"I think we'll know when the time is right."  
  
"I really like being with you, Haz. Just so you know," Zayn says quietly, still staring at the side of Harry's face. Harry turns to him, his smile gone.  
  
"I want to be with you all the time. I don't want us to not be together, okay?"  
  
"Okay, Haz," Zayn says, smiling. "So we're together? Like we can say that? I can tell anyone I want, so long as their name isn't Styles?"  
  
Harry moves up and onto Zayn's chest, looking down at him, breathing on his face. "You fucking better," he whispers, with a laugh.  
  
He leans down to kiss Zayn, moving his tongue against his, as he slots their legs together. They both move in one motion, getting friction against each other, moving around on the thin blanket over the hard ridges of the truck bed. Zayn's already hard and needy, wanting Harry to touch him first this time. Harry gets the idea and moves his hand to Zayn's crotch, palming him through his jeans. Zayn groans into his mouth.  
  
"Fuck, Zayn. You're so fucking gorgeous. I feel like," he breathes out against Zayn's neck, "I just like, I feel -" which is when Zayn can't help but laugh. He loves when Harry gets vocal, gets flustered when he's right in the middle of it, when he can barely string a thought together, as he bites and growls into Zayn's neck. "I feel like I want to fucking eat you sometimes."  
  
Zayn laughs loudly at that, slapping at Harry's head as he continues kissing along his neck.  
  
"You are so dumb, Haz. I fucking love it," he says, still laughing.  
  
Harry pulls back, also laughing, kissing Zayn's open mouth. They kiss until they can't take it anymore, when Harry undoes Zayn's jeans with one hand, to reach in his briefs to get a hand on him. Zayn's entire body moves as Harry strokes him, like he's flailing around or falling off a cliff, it's so good. They're out in the open, on their pier, waves crashing beneath them, and Harry moves down to get his mouth on Zayn once and for all.  
  
Zayn's brain short circuits and everything goes white, as Harry sucks him deeper and deeper. Zayn has that thought again, that he's the first man to ever experience this with Harry, and if he didn't know any better, he would've thought Harry was genetically modified to suck dick like some sort of dick sucking super soldier. He laughs at himself for thinking something so ridiculous, as Harry licks around the head, making him gasp. Harry grips his thigh tightly in one hand, as Zayn lightly pushes his hips up.  
  
"Fuck, Harry. Your mouth," he pants out in a rush. "I'm gonna come, use your hand, use your hand."  
  
But Harry doesn't listen, he just sinks lower, sucks harder, until Zayn comes with a cry. He shudders a few times, spilling into Harry's mouth. Harry sits up to look at him, and he's licking his lips.  
  
"Was that good? Was it okay?" he says, worried.  
  
"Jesus Christ, come here," Zayn says, grabbing his neck. He kisses Harry like he fucking needs it, tasting himself, putting everything into it to let Harry know how good he did. He hurriedly reaches for Harry's cock then, getting it out of his jeans and briefs so he can pull him off. Harry doesn't deserve to wait another second.  
  
"Zayn, holy shit. _Fuck_ ," Harry pants into his chest.  
  
"Good?"  
  
"So good. Fuck. Next time," he pants, "next time I want you to fuck me. I want to try it, and I want you to do it, and I want you to fuck me, and then fuck me again," he pants out, practically speaking gibberish again.  
  
Zayn feels his cock twitch already, at the way Harry's speaking to him. He wonders if Harry has his own goddamn language when he's like this, the nonsense he strings together barely making sense half the time, but when it does, it sounds so amazing coming out of his mouth.  
  
"You're filthy, Haz. Come," he groans into his ear, and Harry listens because he's good at doing what he's told. He comes over Zayn's fingers and cries out one last time into Zayn's chest.  
  
Afterwards, they lay together for a while longer, holding hands, looking at the stars. It's about then that Zayn realizes that whenever they're alone, they literally can't stop touching each other. It feels fucking amazing, it feels right, like they're anchors.  
  
So when Zayn drops Harry off at the end of his driveway, to where Sam is standing waiting for him so they can walk into the house together, he kisses Harry through the window like it's the last thing he'll ever do.  
  
On his drive back to the apartment, Zayn can't stop himself from thinking about magnets, about Harry, about how it feels like every experience he's ever had has led to this. He's supposed to be exactly where he is, with Harry, helping Harry do what he needs to do to finally be himself. This is what is supposed to happen, just like this, in this order. They maneuver around each other and towards each other. They always have.  
  
They're magnets.

  
  
***

  
Two days later, it's Fourth of July weekend and as always, Santa Barbara comes alive. All the businesses on the pier, as well as the restaurants and beach houses that line Cabrillo Blvd. all decorate in red, white, and blue. There are banners hung on porches, flags on every car, as people stock up on fireworks and sparklers for the big night. The pier begins its transformation into the main attraction, where the carnival rides and games will go. The food vendors start moving in, stocking up and getting ready for the families to pass by, needing their hotdogs and cotton candy.  
  
Zayn can feel it in the air, that electricity that only comes every July 4th, his favorite day of the year. When his family arrives on Friday night, he greets them all with massive hugs. His sisters all run around him, excited to be back in Santa Barbara, to be back on their old stomping grounds. Trisha tells Zayn off for a recent tattoo, a tattoo she saw back in April but still reminds him she doesn't particularly like. And Yaser gives him the biggest hug of all, man to man, ruffling his hair, telling him how much he's been missed. Zayn wants to bottle this day, and every conversation, bottle it up so he can take it home. He even wants to bottle the stupid conversation Louis has with his mom, about how everyone at the restaurant thinks Zayn is so dreamy this summer, so much more "built" and "grown up." Louis is an idiot, but Zayn would still take it all home with him, if he could.

Zayn would bottle all of it.  
  
He works the dinner shift while his family spends time with their family friends, at their house not far from the beach, and Zayn promises to see them later. During their shift, Harry makes a point to stand close to Zayn in the kitchen whenever they're both waiting for their food to be up, and runs his fingers against Zayn's thigh, a smile on his face. Zayn almost melts into him, wants to touch him more, but he can't, because John looks at him then and his face looks sad. Zayn would feel bad for him, except he heard Kristin in the office the other day, talking to John about still trying to have a baby "in the near future," and now he really can't be bothered.  
  
As the staff leave that night out the back door, Zayn pulls Harry to the side, so they can talk on the side of the building.  
  
"I'm going to be with my family all night, but I'll see you tomorrow, right?"  
  
"Of course. It's the Fourth. I'll be on the pier eventually, I'm sure," Harry smiles at him, holding his hand.  
  
"I seriously already miss you."  
  
"Oh get a grip, Malik. I'll see you tomorrow," Harry smiles, giving him a quick kiss.  
  
Zayn doesn't tell Harry that he wants to blow him under the pier the next night, before the fireworks start, because he figures it'll be a nice little surprise for him. So he smacks Harry's ass as he walks away, laughing to himself.

  
  
***

  
The pier is packed the next day, full of locals and tourists taking in the sights. Zayn lets his mom hold his hand as they walk along the beach, because she's ridiculous, while his dad holds Safaa's hand, squeezing her fingers too tightly sometimes to make her laugh. They go to the pier and eat shitty processed food, play a few games, and indulge Doniya when she tells them ridiculous stories from school, about people they don't even know. Waliyha tries to stay on her phone the entire time, until Zayn pretends to chuck it into the ocean.  
  
Harry had texted him before, telling him his family wanted to stay close to the house for most of the afternoon, but they'd be at the pier later for fireworks. Zayn's heart swells like it always does, thinking about the next time he'll see Harry.  
  
His dad pulls him aside as the sun starts to set, while the girls try on hats from a random cart selling them on the pier.  
  
"So what's his name?" Yaser says, smiling.  
  
Zayn can't hide shit from his dad, and he's never really wanted to, so he fesses up. "Harry," he says with a laugh, looking at the water. "Harry Styles, actually. Remember him?"  
  
"Yes! And you're both treating each other well, yeah? Respect? You listen to what he says?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
"Good boy. You're a good boy," Yaser says, grabbing his shoulder, as the look out over the water together.

  
  
***

  
Zayn knows Harry is near him because he can feel it, the pull they have towards one another. The sun has finally set and the pier is getting more crowded, with people coming in from the street to get ready for the fireworks to start soon. Zayn keeps looking around to find Harry, to spot him, when he sees the entire Styles family walking together. Gemma has a guy with her, their arms linked, laughing at something Anne said.  
  
Harry and Sam are together, holding hands.  
  
It's stupid for Zayn to feel jealous, but he can't help it. Harry told him that he gets jealous every time someone gets near Zayn, and he definitely gets that. He'd give anything to hold Harry's hand right now, this night, under the fireworks, with his family around him.  
  
Harry spots him and gives him a blank look. They both know he can't help it either, that it's not what he wants. Sam sees Zayn then and gives him a sad look. Shit, she probably wants to be with Louis right now, so she's just as downtrodden.  
  
Everyone starts settling in, finding their spots to watch the fireworks display. Zayn looks over at Harry and gestures to the beach, nodding his head. Harry gives a small nod, so Zayn quickly tells his dad that he'll be back in a few.  
  
Zayn practically runs to the end of the pier, to make his way down into the sand, into the shadow made by the wooden planks, to wait for Harry. Harry doesn't make him wait long and runs to him, knocking him against one of the poles holding the pier up, kissing him fiercely.  
  
"I missed you today," Harry whispers.  
  
"I missed you too. And when I see you with Sam, I lose my fucking mind," he says back, in between kisses.  
  
"I know, I'm sorry. I fucking hate it. Soon, I swear," he kisses back.  
  
Zayn reaches down to run his hand along Harry's crotch, over the stupid jean shorts he's wearing, when Harry grabs his hand and shakes his head.  
  
"We can't, I can't stay."  
  
"But I wanted to do this, right here, where we kissed. Remember Hazza?" he smiles, leaning in, grabbing at his cock again.  
  
Harry pushes him away again, and says with a small laugh, "No Zayn, I'm serious. I can't, I have to go back."  
  
"Why?" Zayn huffs angrily, practically stomping his foot. "I want you."  
  
Harry kisses him and goes to walk out from under the pier, from under the wooden planks. Zayn hangs his head and follows after him, bummed that he didn't get to give Harry his surprise. He wanted it to be full circle, for them to go from a kiss to a sexual experience, in their special spot.  
  
Harry tugs him by his hand until they're parallel to the pier again, smiling. He squeezes his fingers as he turns to him.  
  
"Next time, okay? Let's meet up tonight, after everyone's asleep. In the truck?" he says up close to Zayn's face, breath hitting his cheek.  
  
"Yeah, in the truck," Zayn smiles, kissing Harry lightly on the lips.  
  
They hear it, then. It might as well be a fucking nuclear bomb, a blast that shakes the very ground they walk on, it hits them both so hard. They hear it at the same time, and both freeze. They hear Harry's name being called from above them, a booming voice that Zayn feels deep in his chest.  
  
" _Harry Styles._ "  
  
Zayn slowly turns his head over and upwards, towards the voice, to see Harry's dad looking down at them, his hands gripping the wooden pier, white knuckles on full display. He looks murderous. No one around him seems to be looking down at the two young men standing close together in the sand. It feels like Zayn, Harry, and Des Styles are the only people not paying attention to the fun on the pier.  
  
Harry practically throws Zayn's hand from his, as if Zayn's skin were scalding him. Zayn feels _that_ deep in his chest too.  
  
The fireworks start then, the massive booms exploding in the sky, colors illuminating the sand, the water, Harry's face, as the Ray Charles version of "America the Beautiful" plays through the outdoor speakers. Zayn can't stop looking at Harry's profile, as Harry looks up at his dad, white as a sheet.  
  
Zayn's dad always told him to listen to people, to really listen to what they're saying. And in that moment, after listening and hearing Des say Harry's name, he hears it loud and clear. He hears it, that anger, that hatred.  
  
And he's fucking terrified.


	5. Chapter 5

Santa Barbara weekends during the summer were always Zayn's favorite. When he was at the beach, it was like all of the problems he had at home disappeared. It didn't matter that they didn't have a lot of money, or a fancy house on the beach, or even extra snacks to carry around on the pier. None of that mattered to Zayn when he was around Harry. They used to build sand castles for hours, lay on their beach towels and tell secrets, prank Zayn's sisters by putting wet seaweed in their hair. Zayn remembers Harry being happy, light, eternally sweet.  
  
When Zayn thinks back on those summers, all he can remember are the good things, the positive memories of his childhood. Besides the Pop Rocks incident and the night they got caught on the pier, Zayn honestly can't think of any bad days with Harry, except for maybe one.  
  
Harry knew, even at ten years old, not to make his dad mad. He especially knew that when it came to the cars in the driveway, you don't touch and you don't get too close. His dad valued his cars above all else. The day Zayn commented on the cool red sports car, as he walked towards it to run his hand along the sleek exterior, Harry slapped his hand away as a warning. You don't touch the cars. You don't get close to the cars.  
  
So when they accidentally shattered one of its windows a few short weeks later, with a baseball going clean through the passenger side glass, Harry knew he was in trouble. Zayn saw his face and knew it too.  
  
Zayn heard a plane break the sound barrier once, a military plane that flew over Bakersfield when he was six. It created a sonic boom. It was on the news and everything, after people thought a bomb had gone off. And when Mr. Styles came barging out of the front door at the beach house that day, to see Harry and Zayn standing in the front yard with terrified looks on their faces, Zayn thought of that boom, of that loud sound that made him jump almost clean out of his skin. Des walked over to his car so fast, Zayn felt like his head was spinning. He looked back and forth, from Des to Harry, as Harry became more and more afraid. He saw Harry literally shaking in his shoes.  
  
Zayn's dad never really got angry, not at him, or the girls, or at situations when the kids were around. Zayn didn't know dads got that mad, as mad as Des got that day. He marched towards them and pointed his finger in Harry's face, yelling at him over and over about breaking the window. He screamed at Harry, said he was such a disappointment, that he _told_ Harry to stay away from the car, but he never listens to anything he says. Harry just stood there, letting his dad berate him for an accident, an accident that technically Zayn caused because he was the one across the yard who threw the baseball in the first place. Harry didn't cry, but he didn't look away either. Zayn had the distinct feeling that Harry knew not to look away, to look like he wasn't listening. He could tell this must happen a lot, or had at least happened before.  
  
Harry didn't cry until his dad stormed back into the house, yelling about calling Anne, cursing, wondering how he was going to fix the window on such short notice. Zayn held Harry's hand on the side of the house that day, after Harry pulled him away from the front windows so Des wouldn't see them huddled together, while Harry cried onto his shoulder.  
  
Zayn didn't know dads got mad like that, or made their kids feel bad for accidents outside of their control. He told Yaser that night before bed that he loved him, that he was glad he never yelled at the girls like how Mr. Styles yells at Harry. Yaser gave him an extra kiss on the cheek before turning the light off in his room.

  
  
***

  
That's the first memory that comes to Zayn's mind, as he looks up at Des staring down at Harry, staring daggers at his only son. Before tonight, whenever he thought of Santa Barbara, he truly only thought of the good memories from their shared childhoods. But the memory of Harry's dad yelling at him, of the day he broke the window, it forces its way to the front of his mind then. He can't help but remember ten year old Harry shaking as his dad clenched his fists and yelled in his face.  
  
So he almost misses what Des says, whatever he says to make Harry start walking away from the ocean and back towards the pier entrance. He has to shake his head, to hear Des repeat it.  
  
"Get up here, _right now_."  
  
Something propels him forward at that moment. He grabs Harry's arm to stop him.  
  
"Harry, don't go. I mean it," he says in a low voice, very aware that Des is still staring at them.  
  
"Let me go," Harry says back, still facing away, voice emotionless.  
  
But Zayn can't let go. He has a very bad feeling. He doesn't know what will happen if Harry goes now, if he goes home with Des, with his family, but there is something sinking in his stomach and every ounce of his being tells him not to let Harry get near his dad.  
  
"I don't like this, Haz. I have a bad feeling right now. You can't go."  
  
Des calls to him again, more forceful. "Harry, I am not kidding. I'm going to get your mom and Gemma, and we are going _home_." He turns away, back towards the pier, finally tearing his eyes away from them.  
  
Zayn takes his chances again.  
  
"Seriously, Harry. I'm not fucking around right now. You cannot go home with your dad. You can't," he says, tugging Harry's arm harder.  
  
Harry turns to him, tears in his eyes. He must know it too, that whatever is waiting for him back at the house won't be good. Zayn doesn't know if Harry's dad has ever physically hurt him, he honestly doesn't want to know at the moment for fear of what he might do, but he can't shake the bad feeling, that something bad is about to happen. He knows Des is either going to hurt him, or is going to finally emotionally scar him to the point of no return.  
  
"He's my dad, Zayn. When he tells me to do something, I have to. I have to go," Harry says, chin wobbling.  
  
"No, you don't. I'm serious, Harry. Please don't go home. Please. I am begging you not to go home right now. Come home with me."  
  
Harry looks back up towards the pier, to where his dad was standing only moments before. He is full on crying now.  
  
Just then, Sam and Louis appear, looking down at them, stricken looks on their faces. Sam must have seen Des, must have seen him looking over the edge of the pier, and then barging to find his family. She knows it's not going to be good.  
  
"Harry, go with Zayn right now. Don't go home," she says, grabbing Louis's hand for dear life. "Go."  
  
That apparently does it, Sam mirroring Zayn, telling him to get out of here. Harry looks at Zayn with a sad look in his eyes, as Zayn grabs his hand and pulls him through the sand. He only looks back to give Louis a look, a look he hopes conveys _tell my parents I had to go_ , and Louis nods his head. He gets the message, and for that, Zayn will always be grateful. He doesn't let go of Harry's hand, doesn't let them slow down, until they're away from the pier and a full two blocks away, almost to the apartment.  
  
He pushes Harry up the rickety wooden stairs, to walk ahead of him, and then pushes him through the door and onto the shitty brown couch.  
  
Harry sits with his face in his hands and doesn't hide the fact that he's crying. Zayn just sits with him, doesn't touch him yet, for fear of making it worse. He just lets Harry cry on his own, let's him process what happened, let's him come to terms with the fact that not only did his dad see them, but Harry also disobeyed him further by not going home.  
  
Zayn's phone buzzes in his pocket and he quickly looks at the text from his dad, the text that simply says they'll stop by tomorrow morning before heading back home. Louis clearly spoke with him and Zayn's grateful again. He wishes he could see his dad right now, hug him, tell him thank you. He's about to put his phone away, when Harry finally speaks.  
  
"Who is that?" he muffles through his hands.  
  
"Uh, my dad. They're still at the pier."  
  
"I always liked your dad. He always seemed really, really nice," Harry says, still into his hands.  
  
"He is."  
  
"Fuck," Harry says angrily, finally sitting up to look at Zayn, tears flowing. "Fuck my dad, you know? Fuck him. This is fucking bullshit, Zayn. I never did anything wrong. I did everything he ever asked of me, and I still find a way to fuck up, to make him hate me all over again. How is any of this fair?"  
  
Zayn can feel his face getting hot, can feel the emotions starting to take over. "It's not fair. It's not fair at all."  
  
"I heard him say once, when I was fucking five, that he hopes I'm not a faggot. I heard him say that, Zayn."  
  
Zayn moves closer to him and grabs his shaking hand. He pulls it to his face so he can rest his mouth against Harry's skin. Harry just keeps shaking his head, back and forth.  
  
"I hate him so much. I really hate him. You're not supposed to hate your father."  
  
"Fathers aren't supposed to hate their sons either," Zayn whispers quietly, into Harry's hand.  
  
Harry cries harder, as Zayn pulls him into a tight hug. Zayn holds him close, runs his hands through his messy hair, tries to rock him through it. Eventually they end up laying together on the couch, bunched up together, legs tangled. Harry half rests on Zayn's chest, too exhausted to move.  
  
Zayn runs his hands through his hair, even long after Harry falls asleep.

  
  
***

  
An hour later, the front door opens slowly. Zayn hasn't been able to fall asleep. He's glad Harry is getting some rest, after crying himself to the point of exhaustion. When Louis tiptoes in with Sam behind him, Zayn slowly extricates himself from Harry's grasp and nods to Louis, following him back to his bedroom. He notices they both have huge bags in their arms and over their shoulders.  
  
Louis closes the door quietly behind them, as Sam sits on the bed. She looks absolutely exhausted as she rids herself of the bags strapped to her body.  
  
"What happened?" Zayn asks in a whisper.  
  
"Harry's dad went fucking ballistic, that's what happened," Louis says, setting everything he has down on the floor. "We saw him yelling at Anne on the pier, freaking out to her. So we went to the edge where he had been standing and saw you both. Kind of figured it out then."  
  
"We went back to the pool house, followed them, and could hear Des and Anne fighting. Anne was trying to calm him down, but he was furious. I think he broke something in the dining room," Sam says, rubbing her temples. "So we grabbed as much of Harry's shit as we could, and here we are."  
  
"So what do we do now? Does Harry stay here? What's going to happen?"  
  
"I don't know, Zayn. But I don't think he should go home yet," Sam says with wide eyes.  
  
"Sam, be honest with me. Has his dad ever hurt him? Like really hurt him, bad?"  
  
"I don't think so. I really don't think he's ever hit him. But I wouldn't put it past him, not now. One of his kids being gay is the one thing he's always been afraid of, and now he knows it's true. This isn't good."  
  
Louis has taken to pacing back and forth, as Sam and Zayn whisper to each other. When Louis gets fired up, he can't sit still.  
  
"This is bullshit. Fuck that guy, seriously. You both should stay here, until you figure out what to do, or until he calms down. Fuck him," Louis says, finally stopping to look at Sam.  
  
"Thanks," she says, grabbing his hand, finally letting the emotion take her over and she starts to cry. "Des is an asshole. I'm sick of him killing Harry's spirit. I'm really sick of it."  
  
The three of them are silent after that, looking at one another as her words settle. Because they all know Harry's spirit, the person Harry is, is way too good for Des Styles to keep putting down.  
  
Zayn vows then and there that he won't let it happen again.

  
  
***

  
When Zayn wakes up the next morning, it's to a set of massive green eyes in his face. He startles, shakes his head, to focus his eyes on Harry. He's practically on top of Zayn on the couch, chin resting on his hands on Zayn's bare chest, two inches from his face.  
  
"Hi," he says quietly, as Zayn shifts slightly, to get his blood circulating again.  
  
"Hey you," Zayn whispers, reaching up to smooth Harry's eyebrow with his thumb, to get the crease out of his forehead. "How do you feel?"  
  
"Like shit."  
  
"I figured."  
  
"We have a restaurant shift soon. We have to be there for the lunch shift," he sighs, finally looking away from Zayn's face, to lay his cheek on his hands.  
  
"Do you really think we should go? Won't your dad know you're there?"  
  
"I made a commitment to the job. So did you. We can't leave everyone without two servers, that's not fair," Harry says, shifting his body weight.  
  
Zayn sighs and knows he's right. He's reminded again of how good of a person Harry is, how considerate he is when it comes down to it. He hates himself all over again for assuming Harry was a snob back in May. He briefly thinks of how shitty he's been for the last few summers, for everything he's ever done with John, and he makes another vow to himself, aside from the one he made last night, and it's to be a better person. He can't believe he ever forgot that Harry Styles has always made him want to do better, to _be_ better.  
  
There's a knock at the door, so Harry scrambles off of Zayn like he's been bitten by something. He moves against the wall by the door and looks like a cornered feral cat. Zayn hates it. So he yells through the door, "Who is it?" as he steadies himself on two feet, ready for a large man to come barreling in. If he has to beat the shit out of Des Styles, he absolutely fucking will.  
  
"It's just us, sunshine," he hears his mother say.  
  
Zayn lets out a huge sigh of relief and almost falls back onto the couch. He smiles at Harry, just as Harry's body calms down. He stands there in his stupid jean shorts and ratty tank, shifting from foot to foot, trying to smile back at Zayn. It's not really working.  
  
Zayn unlocks the door and his entire family waltz in like it's no big deal. His dad gives him a concerned look because he can read Zayn like an open book, knows he's stressed, knows something is wrong. Trisha immediately goes to the kitchen and starts moving shit around, trying to clean up whatever she can, while the girls chat away. No one notices Harry's even against the wall until Zayn clears his throat and looks his way, forcing everyone's eyes to Harry.  
  
"So you all remember Harry. Harry Styles," Zayn says, waving his hand at him slightly.  
  
They all say hello, Trisha asks how his mother is, while Harry just gives a noncommittal shrug. He looks uncomfortable and nervous. The girls keep talking, while Trisha cleans. It's easier with their attention off of Harry. Zayn's at least glad for that.  
  
Never let it be said that Yaser Malik can't also read a room. He walks to Harry and shakes his hand, while also grasping his shoulder.  
  
"Harry. How are you?" he says warmly.  
  
"Uh, I'm. I'm okay. Thank you. How are you?"  
  
"We are all very good, thank you," Yaser says, smiling, still holding Harry's shoulder. "Are you taking care of our Zayn?"  
  
"Uh, yes sir. I hope so. I'm trying, I suppose," Harry says quietly, slowly starting to ease a bit.  
  
"Well trying is just about all we can ask for, right?"  
  
"I guess."  
  
"Good boy. You're a good boy," Yaser finishes, patting his shoulder now. "You were always a good boy. Always took care of Zayn. I hope he's taking care of you too."  
  
Harry's eyes become watery at that, as he finally angles his body towards Yaser in a warm way. "He is. He really is."  
  
Zayn feels overwhelmed at the moment, seeing his dad be so kind to Harry, on a day when he really needs a dad to be kind to him. And if his sisters weren't in the room, he'd probably run over and pull them both into a hug and cry. But he doesn't. He just watches.  
  
Yaser asks Harry about school and how he's liking it. Harry tells him it's okay, but he's not so sure he even wants to be a lawyer, not sure he ever wanted it at all. Yaser nods his head, hand never leaving his shoulder, as Harry tells him how happy he's been in the restaurant, that maybe he wants one of his own. Harry asks how the girls are, and they all give their ridiculous answers, telling him about school and people he's never met. But Harry seems so interested, listens so intently like he's watching a really good play, and Zayn almost cries all over again, watching it all unfold.  
  
As they leave before Zayn and Harry have to get ready for work, they all hug not just Zayn, but Harry as well. Yaser keeps Harry close for a few extra seconds, whispers something in his ear, and Harry nods gratefully and holds him a little tighter. As they walk down the stairs towards the van, Harry slips his hand into Zayn's as they wave them off.  
  
"I think I love you, you know," Harry whispers, as they wave from the top of the stairs, as Trisha honks the horn.  
  
"Oh Haz," Zayn whispers back with a small laugh, squeezing his hand. "I think I've loved you my entire life."

  
  
***

  
Zayn drives them to the restaurant in silence. Harry keeps his arm out of the truck's window the entire way, keeps his eyes close, as the wind blows through his hair. Zayn holds his hand, anchoring them together, to get ready for what they're about to face. They both know Des could show up, could make a scene, could say something hurtful to Harry in front of their friends. Or who knows, maybe he'll come in and act as polite as ever, while grabbing Harry swiftly by the back of the neck to pull him home, to let it out in the confines of their living room. Either way, Zayn readies himself for the fight, to do whatever he needs to do to keep Harry away from him. He hasn't forgotten what Sam said, about Des breaking Harry's spirit. It'll be over his dead fucking body this time.  
  
It's on the drive that Zayn thinks to the future, to what they're going to do come August. Zayn will head back to Bakersfield, while Harry goes back to UCLA, each going back to their lives, filled with lectures and tests and meaningless chatter with classmates. Zayn wonders what it'll mean for them, to go through what they went through this summer and then separate like they used to every year as kids, going back to routines without their anchors.  
  
Zayn thinks about the computer labs he'll sit in for the next year, the computer screens he'll have to stare at to get a degree he's not so sure he even wants anymore. Harry will continue to study law, to become the lawyer his family wants him to be. He wonders if one summer can change your entire outlook on life. For Harry's sake, he sincerely hopes so.  
  
Because a Harry Styles with a broken spirit is the last thing the world needs.

  
  
***

  
They walk into the back door of the restaurant, already putting on their aprons for the day. The guys in the kitchen greet them like normal, treat them the same as always, even if a few give them weary looks, what with Zayn and Harry looking so worn out and tired. Michelle is filling the ice, and mentions to Zayn that John wants to see him. He gives Harry a pointed look and makes his way to the manager's office.  
  
John is sitting at his desk, staring intently at his computer, when Zayn walks in.  
  
"Hey."  
  
"Hi Zayn," John says emotionless, looking up at Zayn standing there with his arms crossed.  
  
"Did you need to see me?"  
  
"How are you?"  
  
"Fine."  
  
As they stare at each other, Zayn can barely remember what he even saw in John, the shell of a man sitting in front of him, wedding ring reflecting off the shitty halogen light coming from the lamp, the man who cheats on his wife with a fucking college kid every summer. John looks at him and sees a piece of ass and nothing more. John gets up and walks towards him.  
  
"I miss you, you know," he says quietly, finally standing in front of Zayn.  
  
"John. Why did you want to see me?"  
  
He reaches a hand for him, but Zayn moves away. John frowns.  
  
"I came in and had a very strongly worded message on the machine this morning, from Harry's dad. He wants me to fire him. He also wants me to fire you."  
  
"And since when do you listen to random fucking people on answering machines? Are you firing me? Because someone left you a message telling you to?" he says angrily, practically pushing at John now.  
  
John's face turns into a sneer, a look of disgust, as he shoves at Zayn hard, pushing him against the wall by the half closed door. He gets right in his face.  
  
"Fuck you, Zayn. You're lucky I let you stay this long."  
  
"Fuck _you_ , John. Get the fuck off me," Zayn says, trying to shove him back. But he's strong, a lot bigger than Zayn, so he holds him in place.  
  
"When this thing with the Styles kid is done, when he finally fucking wises up and goes back to his pretty little life outside of this, back to his mansion and his daddy, I'll see you next summer, Zayn. And you'll be right back here, working in this shitty restaurant with the rest of us, bent over my desk like you always are," John sneers in his face.  
  
"No." Harry's voice travels through the door, as he pushes it open, repeating himself. "No."  
  
He shoves John away, saying no a few more times.  
  
"You don't get to touch him, not like that, not ever again," Harry says, shoving him again. Zayn grabs for his arm to steady them both.  
  
"Come on, Haz. Let's go," he whispers, pulling him towards the door.  
  
"Good, you both need to get the fuck out of my restaurant," John pants out, breathing heavy from beside his desk.  
  
Zayn pulls Harry after him, down the hall back towards the main dining room. It's as they walk in, as they see Louis setting up behind the bar, Sam sitting on a stool drinking iced tea, when they hear it. They hear the hosts and various servers near the main door, yelling as someone comes crashing through it, pushing them out of the way.  
  
Zayn immediately pulls at Harry's arm again, to get him behind him, to stand in between Harry and the tornado flying into the restaurant.  
  
"Harry, get in the fucking car," Des yells as he walks briskly towards them. "Now."  
  
Louis comes from behind the bar, to stand next to Zayn. Zayn wants to touch his arm, like he's touching Harry's behind his back, but he doesn't. He needs to be in control and do this on his own.  
  
"No," Zayn says, the one saying no this time, for Harry.  
  
"You, shut up. I have nothing to say to you," Des points a finger in his face, before trying to shove him out of the way.  
  
"No. You don't get to speak to Harry like that, not anymore."  
  
Every server in the restaurant has stopped, to stare at the situation unfolding. Even a few guys from the kitchen have come out, rags in their hands, to see what the fuss is about. John stands near the hall, arms crossed, watching.  
  
"He is my son and I'll speak to him however I damn well please. Get out of my way," Des tries again, shoving at him.  
  
"Dad, I'm not going home," Harry finally says, eyes cast to the floor.  
  
"Harry. Get in the fucking car."  
  
"No."  
  
It's Louis who speaks up now. "I think it's time you go," he says, eyes burning with anger. "You need to go."  
  
Des turns to him, looks like he's about ready to raise a fist or two, when Alex, another server steps next to Louis and looks at Des. Antonio and Shawn, from the kitchen, also start to move forward, to stand behind Louis and Zayn, behind Harry. They don't say anything because they don't have to. It's clear. No one fucks with a Harbor kid and gets away with it. Des scans the growing group of people, the girls walking towards them, Michelle and Shana. He looks at Sam lightly grabbing at Harry's forearm, and he knows then. He knows it's a losing battle.  
  
Des stumbles back a few steps and stares at Harry, looks around wildly. He looks back at John. John looks worried, doesn't know what to do. Des starts towards John, to get angry at the one "grown up" in the room, the oldest person he thinks he can fuck with.  
  
Zayn turns around then, turns to Harry, just as Des and John start arguing. Their group of friends, their summer comrades stay close. Louis puts his hand on Zayn's shoulder, as Sam grabs at Harry tighter.  
  
"Hey Haz?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"You want to get the fuck outta here?"  
  
Harry smiles, for what seems like the first time in forever. Louis and Sam both smile, stepping back, letting everyone around them know that it's time to move away, that it's all good.  
  
"Yeah. Let's go."  
  
So they do.

  
  
***

  
It's not until they're back in the truck, after grabbing Harry's stuff from the apartment, after Zayn quickly packed the few bags he brought with him to Santa Barbara, after giving massive hugs to Grace and saying thank you, that they realize what they've actually done. They fly south down the highway, both laughing at Grace's expression when she saw them breeze into the cafe together, telling her they had to go. She grabbed Zayn's face and said it was a pleasure, yet again, to have him for the summer. She also tells Harry it was good to meet him, and asks him to take care of Zayn, just like Yaser did. She handed them a pie on their way out, as they called a million _thank you_ s over their shoulders as they ran to the truck.  
  
Zayn has no idea where they're even headed, he just goes the opposite way of Bakersfield and hopes they figure it out on the way. They keep glancing at each other, both in disbelief that not only did they both lose their jobs, but Zayn told John to fuck off, Harry actually left his father, and not just for a night, but for the definite near future. Zayn squeezes his hand over and over, hoping it gets across the message, how proud he is of Harry, for all of it.  
  
Zayn listens intently as Harry talks to his mom on the phone, as he tells her over and over that he's not leaving the fucking country, he's not leaving their family to join the circus. He just explains he needs time away from his dad, away from the pressure. Harry even says it, out loud for the first time, to Anne, that he's gay. He doesn't hear her reaction, but it sounds a hell of a lot calmer than Des ever sounded.

Zayn also doesn't miss Harry's promise to her, that he'll go back to school when it starts up again, that he's not dropping out. He tells Anne to tell Gemma he loves her, but he needs to be his own person for a while. Zayn listens when Harry calls Sam, tells her that they left, tells her to tell Louis they'll send Zayn's rent money to him when they can.  
  
But Zayn listens even more intently when Harry takes his phone and calls Yaser for him, to tell Zayn's family what's happened as well. Zayn can't hear Yaser speaking through the phone, so he doesn't completely know what they talk about, but he hears Harry make a few promises, hears him say _yes_ and _of course_ about a million times, before choking up and telling Yaser thank you.  
  
Zayn squeezes his hand harder as Harry finally throws both of their phones into the glove compartment.

  
  
***

  
A few hours later they find themselves in a small restaurant in Malibu. Zayn had never been to Malibu before, but Harry absolutely raved about it and said it was one of his favorite places, so that's where they decide to settle for the time being. Harry has been everywhere, even Paris, and he has stories for every city, all of which Zayn listens intently to, as Harry drinks his water and tells him about all the random places he's visited. Zayn's never really traveled and he realizes then that Harry has seen so much more than him, has experienced things he's never even dreamed of. Zayn smiles at him, loving this side of Harry, the excitable side he hasn't seen lately.  
  
"I bet visiting Europe would be cool," Zayn says, biting at his straw.  
  
"It's amazing. We should go someday," Harry says, smiling.  
  
Zayn looks at the table and smiles to himself. Sure, they're on a journey now, but it's not going to last forever. And he hates to admit it, but what John said about Harry going back to his life eventually, of leaving Zayn like he did when they were thirteen, that thought won't exactly leave his mind now that it's burrowed itself into his consciousness. He also thinks it's been about a million years since they said _I love you_ , when it was only this morning. Zayn vaguely thinks to himself that he wants to touch Harry right now, in this restaurant, all the time, but he doesn't.  
  
Harry must read his mind because he reaches across the table and grabs Zayn's hand, squeezing. Zayn looks up at him, the question lingering on his tongue.  
  
"Hey, now that my dad knows and saw us in all our glory, who the fuck cares, right?" Harry whispers.  
  
Zayn squeezes his hand back, just as their server brings their food. He half expects Harry to tug his hand away, so no one sees, but he doesn't. He holds on, even while the server makes small talk, as people move around them, walk past their table. Zayn's heart sings, his chest feels like it's about to burst with the affection he feels for Harry at this moment. Harry isn't afraid anymore. He's not worried or looking over his shoulder.  
  
Zayn wants to take this day and bottle it.

  
  
***

  
They spend the rest of the afternoon exploring Malibu, walking along the beach, kissing out in the open because they can. An elderly couple also walking the beach ask if Zayn can take their picture, which he graciously agrees to, reaching for their camera when Harry rolls his eyes and takes it instead. Harry has a better eye for that sort of thing, directing people, and they both know it, so they laugh quietly as Harry snaps a few photos for them, giving them silly directions and poses.  
  
"You two are so sweet," the woman says nicely, taking her camera back. "How long have you been together?"  
  
Harry jumps right in, to play like he used to, and says, "Oh for years. Years and years. We just got married, actually."  
  
"Oh that's so lovely! I'm sure you'll have a wonderful life together. And if yours is anything like this one," she gestures to her husband, "I'm sure he'll make you very happy."  
  
She gives Harry a final wink, while her husband shakes Zayn's hand with a chuckle, and they walk back up the beach. Zayn feels his cheeks heat up, as Harry reaches for his face and kisses him. Zayn wraps his arms around Harry, kissing back with everything he has.  
  
"I love you," Harry says into his open mouth. "I love that we're here, and I love when you let me say dumb things because I like to say dumb things. I love how you gave me time, and I love that you didn't let me go home. I loved meeting your family all over again today. I love all of this. And I know we haven't figured it all out yet, but I love you."  
  
"I love you too," Zayn says into his neck.

  
  
***

  
Harry has a friend from school who lets them stay at his mom's place, up in the hills of Malibu, in the guest house overlooking the beach. Zayn's grateful they don't have to get back in the truck, grateful they don't have to drive anymore or settle anywhere else, because he's kind of fallen in love with Malibu. He's also amazed that Harry thought to call his friend, had the balls to ask if they could stay, and was the type of person everyone can't help but love, the type of person you'd randomly let stay over, just because. Zayn holds his hand tighter, as they make their way from the truck to the open guest house.  
  
Harry's friend Nate said the housekeeper would leave it open for them, leave a key just inside the door, and they're pleasantly surprised at how quaint the room is. It's just a large bedroom with a small kitchenette tucked in the corner, with an attached bathroom and a massive shower.  
  
As Harry busies himself with opening every window possible to let the sunset air in, Zayn walks around the room, running his hand over every surface, taking it in. It reminds him vaguely of Harry's pool house, the one they used to play in, the one they were just in barely a week ago, hands all over each other. Zayn remembers seeing Harry's dumb muppet face hanging over the bed that next morning, and he laughs to himself.  
  
Just then he feels Harry behind him, Harry's hands coming to rest under his shirt along his hips, his stomach, his chest. Harry buries his face into Zayn's neck, can hear him inhaling through his nose noisily, smelling Zayn. He swats at Harry's head then, huffing out a laugh, because Harry's so dumb.  
  
"I probably smell, Haz. We've been in the car all day and on the beach for even longer. Stop," he laughs again, continuing to smack the side of Harry's head.  
  
"You always smell good. You smell fucking delicious," he murmurs into his skin.  
  
"Let's take a shower."  
  
"Okay," Harry says in a rush, finally extricating himself from Zayn entirely. Zayn laughs as Harry throws his shirt off and rushes to undo his jeans.  
  
Once they're naked and under the warm water in the shower Zayn's pretty sure could house an entire NBA team, they kiss lazily, running their hands along every inch of skin they can. Zayn washes Harry's hair before washing his own, before they soap each other up, lathering it into their skin. Harry has to lean against the shower wall, weight on his hands, when Zayn runs his hands down his lower back, along his ass, forward to the V of his hips and down his groin. Zayn teases him by only lightly touching his cock, already half hard and waiting for him, before rinsing Harry off. He hears him make a frustrated sound, so Zayn smiles.  
  
They lay in the bed as night falls, naked and under a thin sheet, Harry running his hands through Zayn's hair. They smell like fancy soap, they smell the same. It's a comforting feeling, after the few days they've had.  
  
"Did you ever think we'd be here?" Harry asks quietly, into the still air.  
  
"In some random person's house in Malibu? No, Haz. I never thought we'd be here," Zayn says with a laugh.  
  
"No, I mean here. Together, like this. After all this time."  
  
Zayn thinks for a minute, before saying, "I knew after our first kiss, when we were barely teenagers, that I wanted you. I just got really used to the idea that I'd never have you, after you never came back."  
  
"I wanted you then, too. For what it's worth."  
  
"And if I'm being honest, I wasn't sure you'd ever get out from under your dad and be with me. I really didn't think you would," Zayn says quietly, almost in a whisper.  
  
"If I'm being honest, I didn't know if I'd be able to either," he says back, still moving his fingers through Zayn's hair. "Luckily we've never been very good at staying apart once we're in the same room, so here we are."  
  
Zayn smiles and rolls over to lay on top of Harry, to get in his face. He kisses him fiercely, running his tongue against Harry's immediately. But Harry stops him after a minute.  
  
"I don't know what I'm going to do yet, Zayn. I don't know how I'm going to talk to my dad, or how we'll work it out, but I have to eventually. You know that, right? That I'll have to work through it with him, however he needs me to?"  
  
Zayn does know, he hears Harry, he listens. He knew the moment they flew down the highway in the truck, leaving Santa Barbara in their rearview. He knows eventually Harry will have to go home and eventually he'll have to talk things out with his dad. Zayn knows Harry might have to leave him, leave him behind again, at least for a little while. So Zayn nods and kisses him harder, as the room gets darker around them, breeze coming in through the windows.  
  
And like some fucking movie, where the two leads finally shut up and get to it, Zayn pushes himself against Harry harder, slotting their legs together, so their cocks can finally feel some friction. Harry holds Zayn's face for dear life, as Zayn licks into his mouth, then across his jaw, along his ear. He kisses down his neck, licks at the muscle where it meets his shoulder, before moving south. He licks across each of his nipples, lightly bites them, as Harry hisses. He licks his way down his chest, his stomach, until he can bite at his favorite part of Harry's body, the skin where his hip meets his leg. Zayn is pleasantly surprised to hear Harry being quiet, not saying anything yet. He loves that Harry gets loud, but he loves this too, this silent agreement that nothing is rushed, nothing has to be said just yet.  
  
As he sucks Harry down, as his throat flutters around the head of his cock, Zayn wants nothing more than to spend the next month in this bed, exploring his body every which way, as long as Harry will let him. Harry grabs at the sheets around him, as his legs twitch, Zayn taking him deeper, sucking harder.  
  
"Stop, stop, stop. I don't want to come like this, stop," Harry pants out, grabbing at Zayn's hair.  
  
Zayn sits up on his knees to look down at the wrecked boy beneath him. Harry's cheeks are red, there's sweat along his hairline, chest heaving. Harry looks up at him, eyes blown completely black.  
  
"How do you want to come, Haz. Tell me."  
  
"I want you to fuck me, I want you to fuck me right now."  
  
"It might hurt."  
  
"It won't. Just do it. Fuck me," Harry pants out fiercely.  
  
Zayn kisses him once, before going to grab his toiletry bag from his duffle. He throws a condom onto the bed, and grabs the small bottle of lube. He lets Harry watch him, as he flips the lid and coats his fingers in it. He's about to settle down on the bed in between Harry's legs, but he first leans over him, to look him in the eye.  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
"Just do it. Talk to me, tell me what you're doing first. I need it," Harry pants out again, squirming on the bed.  
  
"I'm going to get you ready, okay? Tell me if you want me to stop, if it hurts."  
  
Harry just nods furiously, as Zayn settles on the bed. He has Harry hold one of his legs, while he holds the other, to see Harry open and ready for him. He lightly runs a finger against him, coats him, before slowly slipping the tip of his finger in. He hears Harry take a sharp breath, before relaxing his body slightly. Zayn shushes him a little, kisses at his thigh, as he pushes his finger in further. He works Harry through it, letting him feel it, get used to it.  
  
"I'm going to add another," Zayn says, as he works in a second finger. "Relax. Tell me how it feels."  
  
"It's a lot, it feels like a lot,"Harry whispers into the still air, face towards the ceiling eyes closed. "It's good though, keep going."  
  
Zayn's been too afraid to touch Harry's cock while he does this, afraid it'll be too much and he'll come before he can even enter him properly. But he sees how flushed Harry is, how he's aching, so he takes his other hand to grasp him.  
  
"I want you to feel this, feel it," Zayn whispers, as he grasps him tighter and curls his fingers, to run them across Harry's prostate.  
  
"Holy, motherfucking, what the _fuck_ -" Harry cries out, body surging upwards, at the intense pleasure coming at him from both of Zayn's hands. "Fuck, fuck, fuck. Do it again, do that again."  
  
Zayn smiles, sliding his fingers in and out of him a few times, before curling them again and touching Harry's prostate a second time, moving his fingers across it. Harry bucks upwards like before, gasping out more obscenities.  
  
"You have such a dirty mouth, Harry," Zayn says into his thigh, before lightly biting at the thick muscle of it. "I'm adding another."  
  
He works in a third finger and twists his entire hand clockwise, then counter clockwise, over and over, stretching Harry as best he can without hurting him. Harry looks like he's in pain, and Zayn would think he was, had Harry not been telling him to keep going.  
  
"I'm ready, I'm ready. Stop, stop, stop. I can't, I can't," he says, tossing his head back and forth.  
  
"You ready for me?" Zayn says quietly, twisting his fingers again.  
  
"Fuck, fuck, fuck. Come on."  
  
Zayn's poor cock, untouched up until now, is leaking and it takes everything he has not to come, just from seeing Harry like this underneath him. He slowly slides his fingers out, grabbing for the condom to rip it open quickly, before rolling it on and slicking himself up.  
  
"I want to see you come, Harry. I want to see it, okay?"  
  
"Okay," he pants out, eyes still closed.  
  
"And I want you to look at me. Open your eyes."  
  
Harry opens them slowly, barely focusing on Zayn's face, as he continues to hyperventilate. Zayn wants to see all of this, he wants to see Harry come completely undone from him, so he pulls at Harry's arms, forcing him to sit up. Zayn lays down where Harry just was, settling against the pillow, looking up at Harry. Harry stares at him, breathing out of his mouth, a hungry look in his eyes.  
  
Harry gets it, so he hurries to straddle Zayn and look down at him. He sits up as Zayn grabs himself, to line himself up with Harry, silently asking with his eyes if he's sure. Harry nods again, hair flying, looking like a fucking muppet bobblehead, and Zayn almost laughs at the sight. But he doesn't. He reminds himself how long it's been since he fucked someone, since he entered someone instead of the other way around, and tells himself to focus, to make it good for Harry.  
  
Harry slowly sinks onto him, letting a cock enter him for the first time, the head of it finally getting past the initial ring of muscle. Harry does what Zayn asked and keeps his eyes open, face screwed up, as he levels himself with his hands on Zayn's chest. Zayn tries to hold him by the hips, to ease him down, to hold Harry together by the seams. When he bottoms out and Harry is fully seated on him now, he sounds like he's having trouble breathing.  
  
"Relax, babe. Breathe through it, breathe," Zayn says, running his hand up and down Harry's chest, holding him by the hip with the other.  
  
Harry nods again, looking him in the eye, putting his trust in Zayn.  
  
"You want to move, Haz? Can you move?" Zayn huffs out, as he wills himself not to move yet, to let Harry get used to him. But Harry is so fucking tight, so hot around him, he does't know how long he'll be able to stay still.  
  
"Okay, I can move. I'm good," Harry starts to say, as he slowly pulses up and down on Zayn's lap. He throws his head back at the new sensation as Zayn grips his hips tighter. "Fuck, Zayn. Fuck. Holy shit."  
  
"You look so fucking beautiful like this," Zayn sighs, running his hand up to Harry's neck, to grasp the muscle there lightly. "Keep talking to me."  
  
"I love you, Zayn. I love you and I love this," Harry says back, face still towards the ceiling, starting to move faster up and down on Zayn. "Fuck, fuck me. _Fuck_ , Zayn."  
  
Zayn smiles at the random words now coming out of Harry's mouth, as Harry moves faster, as Zayn now starts to buck up to meet him, thrusting harder. He grips at Harry's hips again, digging his heels into the mattress to get more leverage. He can tell Harry won't last much longer, so he finally reaches for Harry's flushed and leaking cock, strokes him while he snaps his hips.  
  
"You gonna come? Come," Zayn groans at him.  
  
Harry finally looks down at Zayn's face with heavy eyes and an even sweatier brow. He leans forward and grabs at Zayn's chest harder, before moving his hips down against him one last time, as Zayn moves his wrist the way he knows Harry likes. Harry cries out as he comes into Zayn's hand, across his stomach. It's as he's finishing that Zayn comes too, throwing his hips up as he fills the condom, his groan cutting through the air.  
  
They're a sweaty mess afterwards, breathing heavy in the bed, after Zayn slowly helped Harry up and off him, after he cleaned them up the best he could, without having to actually move from the bed.  
  
"Fuck," Harry says, closing his eyes, as Zayn grabs his hand. Zayn smiles, knowing it was amazing for the both of them. Harry falls asleep soon after because he's like a toddler, needing sleep the second he's done anything even remotely strenuous.  
  
Zayn thinks that some old thought again, the thought he has a lot lately. He wants to take this day, regardless of what happened at the restaurant, regardless of Harry's dad. He wants to take it all and bottle it, so the two of them can reminisce together, over and over again.

  
  
***

  
If you had asked Zayn Malik three weeks later, as he had a cigarette on the porch overlooking the beach before Harry woke up, if he thought things would end between them, if he really _truly_ thought it would all end, he would've said no, absolutely not. He wouldn't even hesitate to answer, to say that no matter what Harry had to deal with at home, they wouldn't be over. They wouldn't just be done, not after what they went through, after how they felt in that bed their first night in Malibu, and every night since.  
  
Zayn truly didn't think they would end. They were magnets, anchors, little kids who grew up to be big kids, fitting their puzzle pieces together like they were always supposed to. He had that thought again as he blew smoke towards the sunrise, the thought he had after they touched each other in the bed of his truck that night on the pier, that every experience he's ever had, led him to Harry, back to Harry, back together. It was all supposed to happen, just like this, in this order.  
  
No, Zayn would've told you, that morning as he smoked on the porch, him and Harry were solid. They loved each other and regardless of his dad, Harry told him, explicitly told him, he wanted Zayn. Zayn heard him, he listened. He really listened.  
  
Zayn didn't know then, that sometimes things end anyways, even if you do love each other and have all the best intentions. And that when they do, you take out the days and conversations you bottled up, the ones you wanted to save, and you live them again, you listen to the conversations over again, move them around in your hands, hold onto them, just like you always envisioned.  
  
You just live them alone.

 

 

 

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think there's only going to be one more chapter, unless I end up breaking it into two, and make an epilogue. I love reading comments, so please let me know your thoughts!


	6. Chapter 6

If you ask Zayn, he believes there are two types of people in this world: the type who rip off the proverbial Band-Aid, to get it done and over with… and the type who let the Band-Aid fall off, or disintegrate on its own, the type to slowly peel it away, millimeter by millimeter, until it's finally detached from the skin.  
  
Zayn has always been the type to let the Band-Aid stay on his knee, for however long it damn well pleases, until it comes off naturally, or his mom makes him remove it because the scrape underneath needs to heal. He's always seen Harry as the same type of person, even though he can be impulsive and wild. Harry grew up with a lot of pain and anxiety, what with having a father like Des, so Zayn thinks Harry tends to prolong things while he can, to savor the feeling of growth and healing, to save himself from the immediate pain of ripping a bandage from delicate skin.  
  
So it's no surprise that the way they ended didn't happen all at once. It didn't happen because of a huge fight. Neither of them cheated. There wasn't a scandal, no senseless texts sent back and forth in anger or jealousy. It just happened, over time, until it came to a head, until that fateful day. It ended as slowly as it began, as slowly as it took them to get together in the first place.  
  
Because when someone is your anchor, your _true_ better half, the break can't be clean. It's not an easy Band-Aid to rip off or rid yourself of. It happens in a trickle.  
  
Magnets don't exactly pull a part very easily, now do they?

  
  
***

  
It's almost August, when three weeks after arriving in Malibu, Zayn smokes an early morning cigarette on the porch overlooking the beach. His thoughts stray to Harry, like they always do, of his face and how he sounds when he laughs too hard. That's how Harry finds him, in nothing but a pair of ratty gym shorts, eyes closed in a lounge chair, messy hair blowing in the wind as the sun rises. Only a few hours before, they took a long shower, Zayn slipping into Harry with such care and attention, making Harry's eyes cross when he came against the cold tile. They fell asleep with wet hair, so Zayn thinks he must look like a complete lunatic, as it blows every which way around his face. He smiles at the thought, blowing smoke towards the sky.  
  
Harry comes and nestles himself beside Zayn in the cramped chair, grabbing Zayn's arm to wrap around his shoulders. Zayn throws his cigarette into the ash tray, smiling. Zayn leans into him as he gets comfortable, kisses his cheek once, before resting his mouth against the side of his head.  
  
"You're up early," Zayn mumbles into his hair.  
  
"I felt you get up, so I couldn't sleep anymore," Harry says back, holding him tight.  
  
"What do you want to do today, hmm? We can go to the beach. Or we could go down to Santa Monica, go to the pier and play games. Or we could hike. Up to you."  
  
"Zayn," Harry whispers, now speaking into his chest. "I think I have to go home."  
  
Zayn can't say he's surprised, is the thing. He knew once August arrived, once it hit the first of the month when school starts up again, they'd have to leave this little house in Malibu once and for all, before Nate's mom gets back from Europe. He knew Harry promised his mom he'd be back, would finish school, wasn't leaving forever. And Zayn knew that he too needed to finish school, regardless of how he felt about his degree at the moment, because he's an adult. And adults finish what they start.  
  
But it doesn't make Zayn feel any better about being away from Harry, of Harry being back with his family, back to UCLA without him. Harry barely speaks of his parents these days, only mentioning a few texts they've sent, here or there, or telling Zayn about the quick calls with Gemma. Zayn knew it was eating at him, that he was still the kid who sought out his dad's approval. It can't have been easy on him, being away from them, keeping this part of his life tucked away. Zayn had the luxury of speaking to his parents every day, telling them about all the dumb shit they've been up to, all the small road trips they've taken, the shops they've visited, the movies they've watched each night. His parents were even nice enough to send Louis some rent money for him. Zayn thinks, for about the millionth time, how lucky he truly is.  
  
He just thought they might have another week, before finally packing up and both going home. He thought they'd have seven more days.  
  
"Why today? Why now?"  
  
"My mom texted me and she thinks it's time. And I guess I sort of agree. I can't keep hiding from them, you know?" Harry says, again into his skin.  
  
"I hate this. I hate that we have to be a part from each other again," Zayn says with a frown.  
  
"Yeah, it sucks… But I'm not going _away_ this time, not really. We're still going to be together, Zayn. I don't want to be without you. We have to make it work," Harry says with a firmer tone, finally sitting up so they can look each other in the eye.  
  
"So we're going to do this for real? You swear?"  
  
"Of course I fucking swear. I love you," Harry says in annoyance, before leaning in and kissing him. It's only been a few hours since he had Harry's mouth on his and Zayn had already started to miss it. It's about then that he thinks how completely fucked he is, once he'll be away from him for days or weeks on end.  
  
"I love you, babe. We're going to be fine," Zayn says into his mouth, kissing him hard.

  
  
***

  
They spend the rest of the morning packing their scattered belongings and clothes. They're both messes, and they're even worse as a pair, so they constantly have to throw clothes into the other's bag, everything is so mixed up. Zayn finds Harry's shoes under almost every piece of furniture.  
  
They clean the small kitchen, make the bathroom look presentable again, so Nate's housekeeper won't have to work too hard to get it back to the way it was. Zayn knows he's going to cry when it's all said and done, so he keeps putting off the final push, of putting his bags into the truck, for as long as he can. Harry must sense it, because when he calls for the town car to take him home, he does so in a hushed tone out on the porch so Zayn doesn't have to hear him.  
  
The driver is almost to the house an hour later, Zayn knows it, so he needs to hurry. He shoves Harry down onto the couch, after they've closed all the windows and drawn the curtains, after they've made the bed, and climbs into his lap. He grabs his face and kisses him so hard, so forcefully, he feels the air rush out of Harry's lungs straight into his needy mouth. He undoes both of their jeans and licks his palm, so he can get a hand around both of them.  
  
Harry can't seem to keep still, as he moves his hips up and down, as Zayn moves his hand over them together.  
  
"I love you so much," Harry says into his neck, grabbing at the back of his shirt, just like the first time they touched each other like this.  
  
"I already miss you," Zayn whispers back, moving his hand faster, pumping them together.  
  
Harry comes first, with a groan, before lightly biting at Zayn's neck. That small punch of pain is what sends Zayn over the edge, as he uses Harry's come to fist himself faster, crying out in relief. He doesn't move off of Harry right away. He just sits with his forehead on Harry's shoulder, with Harry's fingers running up and down his back. When they finally move to wash their hands in the bathroom, Zayn can't look up into the mirror at their shared reflections because it'll hurt too fucking much.  
  
But all too soon, the car arrives and the driver busies himself with putting Harry's bags in the trunk, as Zayn throws his own into the bed of the truck. They don't look at each other until they absolutely have to, until the driver gets in and glances at his watch, waiting.  
  
They hug for what feels like hours, arms wrapped around each other, cheek to cheek. Harry can't let go of Zayn's shirt and Zayn can only barely let Harry's wild hair out of his grasp.  
  
"I love you. I'll text you the fucking second I get home. And I'll call you tonight before bed, okay?" Harry says into his shoulder.  
  
"Don't forget. Call me. I love you too," Zayn says back, sniffling loudly. Harry won't let go, so Zayn finally nudges him. "Go on, Mr. Lawyer. Go home and fix shit with your dad."  
  
"I will."  
  
Zayn smacks his ass as he gets into the car, which gets him a laugh from Harry, so that's a small victory he can hold for the day. He turns to the truck so he doesn't have to watch the car go down the driveway.  
  
Zayn knows they're going to stay together and that they'll be fine. But he also vaguely thinks about a Band-Aid, and whether or not this is the first millimeter, the first step, of a strenuous and lengthy pull.

  
  
***

  
August isn't easy for them, not by a long shot, but they keep at it. They do exactly what they say they're going to do: they call and text constantly, and every night before they go to sleep. Not that they sleep well though, after sleeping next to a warm body for those few weeks. It's not easy going back to being alone again.

Some days, Harry is withdrawn and sad. Zayn tries to coax it out of him, but he always just says he's tired. He texts Sam on those days, to see if she has any insight, but all he gets out of her is that things with Harry's dad still aren't good.  
  
Zayn has never had a conversation with Harry on the phone or through Skype when his dad was in the house, or around him, or even in the same city. Any time Harry goes home to Orange County, he only texts Zayn, and even then, it's sparingly at best. But when he's at school, or his dad is out of town for work, Harry is exuberant, fun, outgoing. He'll talk Zayn's ear off for hours, telling him about the most ridiculous parts of his day, and it makes Zayn's heart ache with affection.  
  
Once school starts, they both get busy. Harry has to study constantly and Zayn has labs and workshops all week. So the last weekend of the month is the first time they see each other since Malibu. Zayn and Louis both decide to drive in, to see Harry and Sam respectively, and Zayn honestly doesn't know how he'll keep his excitement in check, sure he'll jump on Harry the second he sees him.  
  
Zayn knows himself pretty well, because when he pulls up at Harry's, just a block from campus, he practically flies out of the truck and into Harry's arms like a fucking movie. Luckily Harry is stronger than he looks and doesn't fall over when Zayn throws himself at him.  
  
"I fucking missed you," Zayn says into his neck, kissing the skin there, up Harry's jaw, until reaching his mouth. "I missed you so fucking much. I can't wait to get my mouth on you."  
  
Harry laughs at that and holds him tighter, kissing him back. They hear someone driving by in a car whistle at them, as they laugh walking up the steps to his place. Sam and Louis are going at it pretty heavily on the couch, Sam sitting in his lap, breathing into his mouth as they kiss, which is ridiculous because they see each other all the time, way more than Zayn and Harry. Zayn laughs while Harry makes a retching noise and pulls Zayn to his room.  
  
Zayn fucks him face first into the mattress and can barely hold off on nutting all over him the second he pushes in, but he tries to level his breathing to make it last. He shoves at Harry's cheek with his hand, pounding him with everything he has, as Harry comes undone beneath him, clawing at the sheets. Harry being Harry, he barely shuts up the entire time, hissing expletives and gibberish, and Zayn's almost positive Louis is going to make fun of him for it later.  
  
Afterwards, they lay entwined together, naked and sweaty, Zayn's head on Harry's chest.  
  
"Haz, how have you been? Really?"  
  
"I've been good. You know that, we talk every day," he says with a small laugh.  
  
"No, I know. I just mean, how are things with your dad, for real? I feel like you're holding back, like you're not telling me something."  
  
Harry doesn't answer him right away. He just runs his hands down Zayn's back, up and down, for a few minutes before finally speaking.  
  
"He's still really angry with me. For disobeying him, for leaving, for embarrassing him at the restaurant. And he's angry that I'm gay, plain and simple."  
  
"Does he not fucking get it yet?" Zayn says, suddenly angry. "Does he not understand that being gay is who you _are_? That you didn't choose it, or me, or the way he found out?"  
  
"We haven't talked much about it yet, to be honest. I'm giving him time," he says in a small voice. "You gave me time, to figure out my thoughts, to work it over in my head. It's only fair to do the same for him."  
  
Zayn wants to yell at him, to let it spew out of him, that Des doesn't deserve Harry's patience, or energy, or love. He doesn't deserve someone as good as Harry in his fucking life, let alone as his kid. But he doesn't say any of it, because it's not his place. Des is his dad, he gets it. Sort of.  
  
"You're a good person, Haz. In case I haven't told you lately, or ever. You're better than all of this," Zayn finishes, speaking onto Harry's chest, moving closer.  
  
Harry holds him tight, before they both fall asleep.

  
  
***

  
They don't get to see each other at all in September. Or October.  
  
Zayn texts Harry about his classes, the things stressing him out. Harry texts Zayn when he has a free minute, to talk about funny things he sees, the concerts he's been to with Sam. They try to talk, they communicate, let each other know when they're frustrated with their situation. They Skype when they can. Sometimes they even do a three way call with Louis in Santa Barbara, Zayn in Bakersfield, and Harry and Sam in their little living room by school. They laugh together, send emails, text dirty pictures when they can. They try their best.  
  
Harry opens up to Zayn more, about his dad situation, because Zayn keeps asking, keeps wanting to know if things are better. Harry very honestly tells him how tense it all still is. He tells him about the constant fights they have over all of it. He even admits to Zayn that they've fought about _him_ , about whether Zayn is a "good influence" on Harry, or if Harry's "recent choices" are all Zayn's doing. Harry tries to tell his dad, until he's blue in the face, that he's always been gay, is always going to be gay, and he would've come out eventually, Zayn or not.  
  
Des still can't get past it though, and even though Anne and Gemma are both 100 percent fine and happy with who Harry is, Des can't let it go. Every time Zayn gets off the phone with Harry after one of his fights with his dad, Zayn wants to beat the shit out of him, to smack it into his skull that Harry is fucking perfect. The few times he's voiced that to Harry though, his disdain for his dad and the pure anger he feels towards him, Harry gets mad and blows up at him, screaming that it's his _dad_ , and Zayn needs to be supportive.  
  
Zayn doesn't say anything about Des anymore. He's learned not to. They don't talk about Harry's family. It just makes them both too angry.  
  
Eventually, some days they don't talk at all.

It's a trickle.

  
  
***

  
Zayn doesn't even realize it, that the Band-Aid has slowly been pulled away, millimeter by millimeter, until it's the middle of November and Harry calls him early on a Tuesday morning. Zayn is finally going to see Harry, for Thanksgiving break, and he is practically bouncing off the walls in anticipation. They're going to have a full five days, neither of them going to see their families for the holiday, instead spending it together in Harry's little apartment. They're going to make a turkey and have pie. He's buzzing with energy. He's already awake when his phone rings, looking up various recipes online before class, when he sees Harry's goofy muppet face on the screen.  
  
"Hazza, I can't fucking wait to get there tomorrow, you don't even know. I think we should have pie first, actually. I haven't had a good pie since Grace's. And why put dessert at the end of the meal when it's the best part anyway, you know?"  
  
"Zayn."  
  
Zayn sits back from his laptop, frowning.  
  
"What's wrong?"  
  
"Zayn, it's…"  
  
"Harry, you're making me nervous. What's wrong?" Zayn says firmly, his palms starting to sweat, as he stands up to pace his room.  
  
"My dad. He had a heart attack. He's at the hospital right now, my mom just called me," Harry chokes out, before breaking down in wracking sobs.  
  
"Harry, don't move. Don't try and drive home, stay there. I'll be there in two hours, okay? Don't leave."  
  
Harry just continues crying, and Zayn has to force himself to hang up. He sends a quick text to Sam, in case she hasn't woken up yet or doesn't know, he texts his dad, and sends the fastest fucking email he's ever sent in his life, to his professor. Then he throws a random assortment of shit into a bag, not having packed yet, and is out the door and in his truck, in five minutes flat.

  
  
***

  
After what feels like weeks, he pulls up in front of Harry's place, tires screeching. He runs to Harry's door and flies through it, to find Harry and Sam sitting on the couch, Harry's head in his hands. His stomach tightens, expecting the worst. Des Styles might be an asshole, but he's Harry's dad, and he can't die.  
  
"Haz," Zayn says in a rush, as he sits on Harry's other side, grabbing his entire body in his arms. Harry turns to him and cries into his neck. Sam looks upset as she grabs his hand. "Harry, talk to me. What's going on?"  
  
"He's in surgery," Harry says, with a hiccup. "My mom said he's in a surgery for now, and that I have to get down there, that I have to go home."  
  
"Okay. Okay then, let's go. I'll take you right now, yeah?"  
  
"You will?" Harry whispers, voice wet, all begging eyes and floppy hair.  
  
Zayn just kisses his temple and holds him tighter. He gives Sam a look, and because she's fucking amazing, she goes to Harry's room and packs him a bag while they cling to each other. She promises Harry she'll take care of everything with school, she'll make all the necessary calls, and Harry holds her for a few seconds longer, thanking her over and over in her ear. Zayn hears Harry say something, it sounds like, "We'll talk about it when I get back, I promise, it's okay," before he grabs his bag from her, as a tear falls down her cheek.  
  
Zayn grabs her hand for a second before they walk out the front door.

  
  
***

  
The drive down to Orange County is tense, to say the least. Traffic is a bitch and it takes twice as long as it should, so Harry fidgets the whole way, groans whenever traffic comes to a standstill. He won't even let Zayn hold his hand because he's too antsy, too nervous. He cries, and then sits in silence, before crying again. The cycle continues until he finally tells Zayn where to exit, where the hospital is.  
  
"Do you want me to come in with you?" Zayn asks quietly, as he puts the truck in park.  
  
"Can you? Please?" Harry whispers back, finally grabbing for him.  
  
Zayn just nods, kissing the back of Harry's hand, before they get out of the truck to walk inside the emergency room. When they finally get to the surgical waiting room, Harry runs to his mom and sister. The three of them cry and hold each other, while Zayn stands back, hands in his pockets, looking away.  
  
Finally Harry waves him forward, grasping his hand, as he looks from Zayn to his family, back and forth.  
  
"Mom, Gem. This is Zayn," he says firmly.  
  
"Honey, we know Zayn. We've known Zayn and his family for years. We know," Anne says with a watery smile. "But in any case, it's nice to meet you again, Zayn."  
  
"Hi," he says quietly, shaking both of their hands. Gemma gives him a warm smile, but it's loaded with something Zayn can't quite place. There's something there and he doesn't know what to do with it.  
  
They sit in the waiting room, doing what you're supposed to do in a waiting room, and wait. Zayn tries to get them coffee, to see if any of them need anything to eat, but it all falls on deaf ears. They just want to sit, in the quiet of the hospital, holding hands. He feels like an intruder, like someone in the way during a moment of grief.  
  
Finally a doctor walks out and speaks to the three of them, while Zayn stays in his chair in the corner, head bent. He doesn't know what he'll do, how he'll help Harry, if his dad died on that table, when they were so angry and broken. Beautiful, light, blazing Harry doesn't deserve to be the kid who comes out, only to have his dad die in an operating room a few months later. The world can't be that fucking unfair, it just can't.  
  
Harry walks to him fast, as Zayn stands up, and before he knows it, they're hugging, holding on tight, as Zayn rocks them.  
  
"He's okay, he's going to be okay. The surgery went well, he's still asleep," he says, a tear falling.  
  
"Oh Hazza, it's okay now. It's okay," Zayn sighs in relief, before soothing him, combing through his hair.  
  
They don't stop hugging for a long time. Zayn looks up from Harry's neck and sees Anne and Gemma looking at them. Neither look surprised, or bothered in any way. But Gemma still wears an expression Zayn can't figure out. It almost looks like pity.

He grabs at Harry's shirt and holds on tighter.

  
  
***

  
Zayn stays in the waiting room all day, well past sunset, as Harry and his family drift in and out of Des's room. They have calls to make, people to talk to, paperwork to sign. Zayn sits quietly, getting Harry coffee when he looks like he needs it. He texts his dad to tell him he loves him, tells him to tell Trisha and the girls. He also texts Louis and Sam, tells them both he loves them, too. Just because.  
  
He stays all night, sometimes dozing in his chair in the corner, as Harry and his family move around him. Every once and a while Harry will reach out, behind his back so none of his extended family see, and touch a finger to Zayn's cheekbone, running it over his jaw. Zayn wants to hold his hand every single time, to kiss his fingers, make him feel better, anchor him somehow. But he knows, Harry can't do that just yet, not with uncles and cousins around, all getting into town at random hours.  
  
Zayn tries to stay awake, he really does, but eventually sleep takes over and he's out like a light, face against the wall.

  
  
***

  
The Band-Aid comes clean off the morning after Des's heart attack, right there in the waiting room, as Zayn sits in his chair in the corner. If you had asked him, even just the day before, if he thought they would be over, would be done, he would've said no, just like he would've that day in Malibu when they had to say goodbye again, after their summer together.  
  
But you can't predict this type of thing and you can't exactly prepare for it. It's sort of like a heart attack in that way.  
  
Harry approaches Zayn mid morning, after he had been in his dad's room, talking for what felt like hours. Zayn jolts awake when he feels Harry's hand grasping his. It's like they haven't touched for days, even though they have, sort of. Zayn holds on tight, pulling Harry into a hug.  
  
"How is he?" he coughs out, trying to rid his voice of sleep, as Harry sits back to look at him.  
  
"He's good, he's going to be okay, I think. He's good," Harry says, squeezing his hand tighter, starting to cry. "Thank you, for being here. For driving me here when I couldn't do it myself. Thank you for all of it."  
  
"Of course, Harry. I'll always drive you, I'll always do what you need me to do. I got you."  
  
"I know," Harry says in a whisper, face screwed up in anguish.  
  
"Hazza, stop," Zayn chuckles slightly, pulling him closer. "It's okay now, you don't have to be upset anymore. It's all good."  
  
"Zayn," he chokes out, pulling his hand away so he can hold onto his own knees, bending over slightly.  
  
Zayn feels the energy around them shift, the air get heavier. If he didn't know any better, he would think a tornado was about to hit, the air around them converging in a dangerous combination. It feels too still, too quiet.  
  
"What's wrong?"  
  
"Zayn," Harry starts again, still crying. "I just think… I think. We need to take a break, for a little while."  
  
"What?"  
  
"It's just, my dad and I talked, you know? Like, we _really_ talked, for the first time in fucking _years_ , I swear. And he promised me he'd try, try to be better, to get over this stupid fucking idea he has of me in his head. He wants to be a good dad, a better dad, you know?"  
  
Zayn just stares at him, his lungs feeling tight, like he smoked a pack of cigarettes too fast. He doesn't understand. Harry shakes his head, forcing himself to continue.  
  
"But it's not going to be easy for him, Zayn. It's not going to be easy for my entire family, to finally put this shit to bed, to talk, to get over all of this shit we've built up for years. We're fucked up, Zayn. And it's hard enough for him to accept me as I am, without trying to also introduce him to you, for him to see us together, you know? I can't be in the same room as you and not touch you, you know that," he says, all in a rush, tears falling.  
  
Zayn still can't speak.  
  
"It's just too much at once. It's too many steps, it's too much to ask of him right now. He needs to get better, to heal, you know? And I need to be there for him. I can't do this all at the same time. I just can't. I love you, you know that. I fucking love you," he says, crying harder. "But we can't do this, not now. I need to be his gay son, before I can be his gay son in a serious relationship, throwing it around in his face. He can't handle it all yet."  
  
Zayn doesn't know what to say, doesn't know if his voice even works anymore, if his vocal chords can even function. He has a feeling they've shriveled up, broken off, and are stuck in his throat, choking him. He feels like he can't breathe, like his lungs are getting tighter and tighter.  
  
"I get it, Haz," he finally chokes out, voice almost gone. "I get it."  
  
"I'm really sorry," he says, still crying, face getting redder. "I just want you to be happy. You don't deserve this."  
  
"I get it."  
  
Before he leaves, he pulls Harry up and into a hug, for the last time. He wishes a final hug could take all of the emotion and love you have for a person and shove it at them, give it away, leave it with them, so you can walk away in peace. That's the thought that comes to him, as Harry cries into his shoulder, that he wishes he could shove all of it away. It's heavy, love is, and he wishes Harry would hold onto it so he didn't have to. Let Harry bottle something up for a fucking change.  
  
He looks at Harry one last time and walks out, back to his truck, where he sits in the driver's seat for a long time, well past sunset.  
  
The drive back to Bakersfield is pretty mild. He doesn't cry, he doesn't thrash around in anger, or turn up music to drown out his thoughts. He drives with the windows down, as he drives north up the 5, cars and trucks maneuvering around him, as he sits in silence.  
  
Zayn thinks about pie, once he's almost home, once he's back in his family's neighborhood. He thinks of the pie recipes he looked up, of the holiday he won't be spending with Harry after all, and all the holidays after it he won't be around Harry for either.  
  
That's what makes him eventually cry, thinking about pie.

  
  
***

  
Zayn knows it then, after that morning in the waiting room, that sometimes things end, even if you love each other and have all the best intentions.  
  
So for the months afterward, when he sits in a computer lab staring at a screen, or lets his mind wander during lectures, he takes the bottles he saved in his mind, the conversations they had, the experiences they lived together, all the things he wanted to save for later to reminisce with Harry over, and he moves them in his hands. He holds them, let's them roll around, lives them again like he always knew he'd want to.

He sees Harry's face, smiles at the thought, remembers how he used to playfully push Zayn around when they walked the beach, the feel of his lips under the pier, the day he held his hand for the first time in public at that restaurant in Malibu. He remembers all of it, runs it like a film strip in his mind, when he really needs to live them all again.  
  
He just lives them alone.

 

 

 


	7. Epilogue

Zayn's almost halfway to Santa Barbara when he remembers to actively appreciate his surroundings. He forces himself to enjoy his annual drive to his favorite place, during his favorite month of the year, the promise of summer and sand on the horizon. He sticks his arm out the window, feeling the salty May air go through his fingers. He smiles into it, makes himself feel it, to remember why it's one of his top five favorite things.  
  
This then makes him think further, about his top five favorite days, or experiences, or feelings, and how last May they were almost completely different from this May, from the drive he's currently on. He used to hold these things close, but a certain muppet faced manchild taught him that while you can keep things close for a while, it's probably best to let them air out, let them out into the world, let other people hear about them, let yourself feel them all over again. Bottling shit and thinking about them to yourself only works for so long, before you have to open them up to others. You can't enjoy anything important or special, until you can enjoy it with other people.  
  
So if you must know, his top five favorite things, in only a sort-of-particular order: his drive from home to Santa Barbara every May, the conversation with Louis when he told him he was going to be a dad, the day Safaa was born, the first time he ever had Grace's apple pie, and Harry's voice when he first said he loved Zayn, on the stairs as they waved down to his family.  
  
Zayn smiles. He thinks it's a pretty good list, considering.

  
  
***

  
The first thing Zayn does when he gets to Santa Barbara is head straight to The Harbor. When he walks in the door, he hears a few massive cries of joy, as various coworkers from the past few summers, some of his best summer friends, run and tackle him near the host's stand. Becca can't shut up, asking him about graduating, what he's doing next, while Antonio runs out from the kitchen, grabbing him for a hug.  
  
He hears about all their lives, about the ones who have graduated as well, the ones who haven't, who's gotten laid lately, all the good stuff, really. He meets the new bartender, the guy who took over for Louis, and he seems cool. Shana tells him how famous Zayn is around the restaurant, how he's the best out-of-towner they've ever had. He smiles at that.  
  
John was let go from The Harbor only a few short months after Zayn and Harry made their ridiculous breakout last summer, after it was discovered he tried hitting on one of the new fall servers. That was quite the scandal, their married manager John hitting on a _dude_ , no less. Him and his wife left town, moved farther up north, and that's the last Zayn ever heard of him. He smiles at that thought too, that even after graduation and the fact that he has no idea what he's going to do with his life, he never had to come back to this restaurant after all, didn't have to work for John again, or bend over a desk to feel magnetic.  
  
Zayn promises everyone he'll come see them soon, that he'll bring Lou along so they can all chat like old times, and goes back to the truck. He drives down the familiar streets of his favorite town on the beach, to the one place he's always felt as his second home.  
  
He throws the truck into park and bolts towards the cafe door, the little cafe with the shitty apartment above it, as the bell announces him. Only a few people are inside, sitting at various tables, chatting away. Just then, Louis pops up from behind the counter and sees him.  
  
"Zayn Malik, you gorgeous fucking bastard!" he yells, arms held out, startling the man sitting at the counter into spilling his coffee. "Get over here!"  
  
Zayn laughs as they run and meet each other in the middle of the cafe, hugging like their lives depended on it.  
  
"Missed you, Lou. I haven't seen you in two months. Haven't been here since last summer!"  
  
"If you were a tad fucking smarter, you'd make it here more often!" Louis laughs, as they separate. "So what's going on, man? Are you as excited for this weekend as I am?"  
  
"Louis, I can't do this with you yet. We can talk pleasantries later. Because right now, I need to know if she's here," Zayn says smiling, putting his hands on his hips. Then he yells louder, over the counter towards the kitchen. "Because it would be a shame to come all this way and not see her right this very second, _am I right?_ "  
  
Just then he hears the pots clattering in the kitchen, as Sam makes her way out, huffing and throwing a towel over her shoulder.  
  
"Oh fuck off, Zayn. I'm here," she says with a small smile, tucking her wild hair behind her ear. "I'm here, I'm fucking huge, and my feet hurt. So be extra nice to me."  
  
Zayn throws his head back in a laugh, hearing Sam curse like a sailor, like she gets when she's extra crabby. He grabs her hand to hug her. Her belly gets slightly in the way, so Zayn hugs her shoulders tighter.  
  
"And how is the little man doing?" Zayn says, running his hand along her stomach, before smiling at her. "How is he? How are _you?_ Are you good? You should be sitting down, right?"  
  
"No time, kid. I'm still working at the vet clinic up the street, and helping out here when we need it," she says, now rubbing her stomach. "I can work for the next month, it's okay. He won't be here until July."  
  
"When, rest assured, I'll put him to work too," Louis says laughing, reaching up and running his hand next to hers, waggling his eyebrows. "Ever since Grace left me this place, I feel like I need to keep it in tip top shape. And we could always use another gorgeous Tomlinson face around here, to bring in the ladies."  
  
"Oh, _please_ ," she sighs with an eye roll, smacking Louis with the towel before walking back into the kitchen, and calling back to him. "Give him pie, Lou. He's practically drooling for it as it is."  
  
They both laugh as Zayn settles at the counter. Louis has a slice of pie in front of him in no time at all. They spend the rest of the afternoon talking and laughing. Louis offers to let Zayn stay in the apartment upstairs, on the couch like old times, but Zayn politely turns him down. Now that Sam lives with Louis full time, and they have the baby coming, Zayn knows they should savor their time alone.  
  
Zayn will never forget the day Louis showed up at his door, white as a sheet, a few short weeks after he and Harry broke up, pacing his living room talking about a baby being on the way. Sam was a mess, he was a mess, they were terrified. Zayn had to shake him a few times, assure him he'd be a great dad, before breaking into a huge smile, imagining a little Louis running around. Louis smiled then too. And after that, it all sort of fell into place. Sam moved to Santa Barbara by Christmas, transferred schools, and then Grace dropped a bomb.  
  
It actually worked out pretty perfectly, Grace's engagement. After living alone her whole life, of owning the place and being content with it, Fred proposed to her out of the blue, after kissing her right there in the middle of the cafe. He said he always loved her, and Grace said she had always loved him, much to everyone's surprise, so they decided to get married in May, this weekend, and move to San Diego to retire together. So she graciously sold the cafe to Louis, so long as he promised to never change her pie recipes, and oh yeah, promised to be a great fucking dad to his kid, like she always knew he would be. After that, Louis never worried about being good at it again.  
  
It's on the tip of his tongue, as Zayn sits with Louis at the counter, eating pie like it's his job. He wants to ask about Harry so badly it almost hurts. But he learned a long time ago that asking about Harry or how he's been just makes his heart ache more than it already does. Sam sometimes tries to slip it into conversation, how Harry's dad is like a totally different person, how Harry's finally happy with his family, how he graduated with honors. But Zayn changes the subject or leaves the room before she can say much else. He was hurt for a long time, hurt that Harry broke them. Now it doesn't hurt, so much as it's a dull ache in his chest, and he reminds himself Harry always did things his own way. He needed to mend his family before he could love anyone properly.  
  
He's glad Harry's dad came around, that their family got put back together even after everything Des said and did. He's glad Harry graduated with honors, even though Sam also once mentioned that he's not going to _be_ a lawyer, at least not any time soon. He wants to travel for a while, review restaurants or something as equally _Harry_. Zayn's comforted to know that Harry, much like himself, isn't sure where he's headed just yet.  
  
So he almost asks Louis, then and there, if Harry is good, if he's _really_ good, if he ever asks about him. He wants to ask if Harry misses him, misses _them_ , if fixing his family by himself was the right thing for him, if he felt it worked out for the best.

But he doesn't.  
  
This weekend is about Grace and her wedding. It's not about him, or Harry. And for the first time in a long time, Zayn tells himself to bottle his feelings and put them away to think about another time.

  
  
***

  
Zayn knows Harry is near him because he can feel it, the pull they have towards one another. The sun has started to set and the garden is getting more crowded, with people coming from the church into the reception area at Fred's brother's place. Grace and Fred breeze past him, completely in white, Grace pinching his ass for a second because she's Grace, laughing as they greet more guests. Zayn doesn't expect it, is the thing, to feel the pull he always feels when Harry is near. He grips his champagne flute tighter and tugs on his suit jacket, wildly looking around him, until he sees them.  
  
Harry and Sam are together, holding hands.  
  
His heart almost bursts clean out of his chest when he sees Harry again. He's in a classic black suit and a crisp white shirt, his black tie flapping in the wind, his hair looking longer and more wild than the last time he saw him. He has his head thrown back in laughter at something Sam just said. Zayn can practically hear that laugh, the laugh he gets when he laughs too hard. He can almost taste it.  
  
Louis swiftly walks up to stand next to him, sipping champagne of his own, with a contemplative look on his face as he looks at his gorgeous pregnant girlfriend holding hands with Zayn's equally gorgeous ex.  
  
"They are quite the pair, aren't they," Louis says, like he's talking about the fucking weather.  
  
"Did you know he was coming? I didn't know he was coming," Zayn says in a hushed whisper, anger creeping into his voice.  
  
"Well, I knew _Sam_ knew he was coming. But she didn't explicitly _tell_ me. I definitely assumed so, figured she'd have him come," he says, still as nonchalant as ever.  
  
"What does that even mean?" Zayn says, shaking his head. "Fuck, Lou. What do I do? He's here, he's fucking here."  
  
"I think it's about time you both talk, yeah? Maybe get over the stupid shit that broke you up in the first place?" he says, finally turning to Zayn, a small smile on his face. "I think he figured it out, Zayn. I think he's ready for you. So... go get him, tiger."  
  
Zayn steels himself then, as he looks over at Harry holding Sam's wrist in one hand, the other on her stomach, as he looks at her like she's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.  
  
And see, that's the thing about little kids who grow up into big kids, kids who fit their puzzle pieces together like they were always supposed to. Those kids don't outgrow each other, their pieces don't ever _not_ fit, they just let themselves think they don't fit, because other people or random circumstances get in the way. Those kids, as Louis would say, are "fucking idiots."  
  
Just then, and because the cosmos have aligned or something equally ridiculous, Harry looks over at him. He smiles at Zayn, tilting his head, staring. Zayn stares back, before his face breaks into a smile as well.

  
  
***

  
Later that night, after everyone becomes sufficiently drunk, Zayn and Harry sit together at a table towards the back of the garden, under the stringing lights and Santa Barbara sky, waves crashing nearby.  
  
They watch Grace and Fred dance with their friends, Grace's favorite customers, the little kids who grew up at Grace's counter, eating her amazing pies. They watch Sam and Louis slow dance, even to songs that aren't slow, as Louis whispers in her ear and she smiles like he hung the moon. "Summer of '69" starts to play, as everyone still sitting collectively lose their minds and weave around the tables, drinks in hand, towards the dance floor.  
  
Zayn reaches out then, grabs Harry's hand under the table, entwining their fingers. It's like an anchor all over again, that small touch, and they both feel it. They know it.  
  
"Hey Haz?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"You want to get the fuck outta here?"  
  
Harry smiles, and it's like Zayn melts right there in his chair, seeing his face light up. He knows Harry's answer before he even says it.  
  
"Yeah. Let's go."  
  
So they do.

  
  
***

  
They come together in the bed of Zayn's truck, at the end of the deserted pier, with Harry on top, Zayn's nails scratching down his back. They're a massive fucking cliche, but they're both okay with it, and so should you.  
  
Neither of them know where they're going. Zayn has absolutely no idea if and how he'll eventually put his degree to use, and Harry doesn't know if he'll ever actually take the bar exam, or if he's even qualified to review restaurants. He can barely use chop sticks, and can't tell a spice from salt and pepper, but he doesn't really care. Maybe they'll travel, maybe Harry will show Zayn all the places he loves. Maybe Zayn will reintroduce Yaser to Des someday, to see how _that_ conversation would go. Who knows.  
  
They don't make any promises, they don't know if they'll end up together, or if they'll only last the summer again. But they know it'll work itself out in the end, however it's supposed to, in whatever order it happens. Because they know that at least for now, they have to stick together. Not much makes sense when they're not together.  
  
They are magnets, after all.

 

THE END

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to end things on a positive, albeit vague, note. Sue me. I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> [Twitter](http://twitter.com/this_onegoes/)   
>  [Tumblr](http://this-onegoes.tumblr.com/)


End file.
